C\J 


REESE  LIBRARY 

OF  THK 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


j  e/lircxsiou  M; 

i 


(*  &  .   CA/ss  No.  tf  $  5   . 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY 


BY 


ANNA    M.   FITCH 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 

27   WEST  TWENTY-THIRD    ST.  24    BEDFORD   ST.,    STRAND 


1893 


COPYRIGHT,  1893,   BY   THOMAS   FITCH 
(A  I!  Rights  Reserved} 


Electrotyped,  Printed  and  Bound  by 

Ubc  Unicherbocfeet  {press,  flew 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY, 


CANTO  I. 


'"THERE  'S  an  isle  in  the  sea — so  the  sailors  declare — 
•*•       So  steeped  in  illusions  of  sublimate  air, 
That,  viewed  through  the  veil  of  the  strange  atmosphere, 
All  objects  enlarged  and  illumined  appear. 
So  shines  through  the  mirage  the  ultimate  West : 
Its  skies  rain  enchantment,  the  breezes  are  blest  ; 
The  sands  flecked  with  silver,  the  rivers  with  gold  ; 
Its  atmosphere  magnifies  nature  threefold  ; 
The  millionaire's  million  thrice  multiplied  seems, 
And  every  man's  fortune  keeps  pace  with  his  dreams. 
Its  products  outrival,  (the  flavor  riimporte?) 
Its  trotters  are  bred  to  the  fetlock — in  short 
Its  grammar  eschews  each  and  every  degree 
Except  the  superlative. 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL   FENLY. 
II. 

Ah  !  the  soiree — 

White  satin  and  diamonds,  aigrette  in  coiffure, 
Gros  grain  and  Brazilian  bugs,  train  de  velour  ; 
A  beetle-wing  watteau  ;  cascades  jW;z/  de  gaze  ; 
Sea  foam  and  pearl  fringe,  amber  algae  in  sprays  ; 
Cream  velvet  and  marabouts,  lace  a  r antique  ; 
Sage  green  and  swamp  lilies,  primrose  gros  cTafrique  ; 
An  opal-hued  satin,  half  smothered  in  tints, 
Escaping  from  shadows  and  glints. — All  devices 
For  fashioning  altars  for  love's  sacrifices. 


in. 


O  woman  !  you  waltz  to  the  measures  of  wealth, 
You  smile  on  your  hero,  you  sip  to  his  health  ; 
You  dote  on  your  baubles,  you  chatter,  and  dance, 
And  languish  in  luxury — meanwhile,  perchance, 
He  waits  with  mute  lips,  on  some  perilous  brink, 
Where  sweep  the  dark  waters  of  destiny — think  ! 
The  pleasures  you  covet,  his  peace  may  disturb  ; 
The  exotic  you  choose,  be  his  "  diamonded  herb  "  ; 
You  may  barter  his  honor,  and  mortgage  his  pride, 
Till,  like  drift  on  the  beach  left  ashore  by  the  tide, 


THE  LOVES  Of  PAUL  FENLY. 

The  sun  of  society  turns  to  decay 

The  flattened  fortunes  itself  swept  away. 


IV. 


How  easy  to  glide  from  the  false  to  the  true, 
From  diamonds  and  dreams  to  substantial  menu  / 
From  glimpses  and  glories  and  phantasy's  play 
To piece  de  resistance,  or  carte  d' argent  vrai  ! 
Some  poet  has  writ  of  the  difficult  part 
Of  painting  the  lily,  or  detailing  art  ; 
But  nature  lies  low  at  the  nethermost  roots 
Of  man's  inspiration  and  impulse — the  shoots 
Are  fashioned  by  accident,  art,  or  perchance 
As  gas-jets  in  roses,  or  fountains  in  plants. 


v. 


To  return  to  the  supper ;  ah  well,  it  is  past, 
Who  lives  for  his  palate,  will  hunger  at  last. 
Confects  in  tall  pyramids,  palm  trees  in  sweets, 
Pomegranates  in  sugar,  and  melons  in  meats  ; 
Epicurus  and  Bacchus,  on  kaolin  vase, 
A  bust  of  Eratos — blue-beige  for  a  base  ; 
Lamp-holders  in  gems,  candelabra  in  gold, 
Tall  vases  in  silver — acanthus-leaf  mould  ; 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Salons  in  mosaic,  in  agate  and  coral, 

With  frescos  and  paintings  effusively  moral  ; 

Oleander,  magnolia,  and  jasmine  in  bloom, 

Drift  through  the  draped  windows  delicious  perfume  ; 

While  music  and  hours,  in  measure  and  tenses, 

Stray  out  on  the  night  wind,  beguiling  the  senses. 


VI. 


When  sorrow  or  ecstasy  seize  on  the  soul, 

How  fleeting,  and  flimsy,  the  scenes  that  control 

Our  commonest  moods  seem  ;  how  straightway  we  seek 

Dumb  nature,  unblaming,  unblinded,  yet  meek, 

Reposeful  yet  sleeping,  though  toiling  untired, 

No  supplicant  wooes  her,  but  finds  the  desired 

Response  to  his  askings.     The  questioning  shades 

Of  doubt  or  distrust,  in  the  passionless  glades, 

Or  the  intrigueless  solitude,  waken  a  strain 

As  welcome  as  notes  in  a  friendly  refrain. 

VII. 

The  time — date  not  named — of  this  same  reception, 
As  shifted  the  midnight  and  smaller  hours  crept  on, 
A  figure  retreated,  in  lisses  and  moir^ 
As  figures  will  do  when  observed  at  a  soirte, 


THE  LOVES  OF  PA 


Exceptionally  and  especially  when 
One's  spirits  are  vexed  or  disturbed  ;  and  again, 
The  effort  to  guess  how  one's  features  are  playing, 
Distracts  the  attention  from  what  one  is  saying. 


VIII. 


To  retire  with  grace, — half  remain,  half  receding — 
Is  art  of  itself  only  gained  by  good  breeding ; 
And,  sad  to  relate,  though  the  figure  in  moire1 
Deported  herself  in  good  form  at  the  soiree, 
She  elbowed  her  exit,  inviting  surprise 
From  the  critical  owners  of  critical  eyes. 


IX. 


The  night  wind  came  languidly  up  from  the  west, 

And  the  bay  into  tremulous  dimples  caressed  ; 

It  played  on  the  lawn,  'neath  the  high  harvest  moon, 

And  sung  to  the  music  in  careless  attune. 

But  the  graceful  adorer  of  " moire' 'and  lisse" 

Who  leaned  on  the  bust  of  Silenus  of  Greece, 

Was  thinking  of  music,  nor  moon,  nor  the  wind  ; 

Indeed,  it  is  doubtful  if  erst  he  inclined 

To  such  ruminations.     A  recent  event 

Had  rippled  the  waves  of  his  sumptuous  content, 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

And  now,  while  the  dancers  were  merry  within, 

And  none  to  observe,  it  was  therefore  no  sin 

To  intrigue,  or  tryst — so  thought  Rupert  Blondell, 

The  man  of  all  men  epicurean. — Well, 

The  rustle  of  drapery — his  placid  expression — 

Are  comments  more  potent  than  any  digression. 


x. 


"  Just  why  I  have  sought  you  here,  Rupert  Blondell, 

Out  under  the  cypress,  I  scarcely  can  tell ; 

For  what  I  shall  say,  you  will  sagely  conclude, 

Might  startle  the  ears  of  this  chaste  multitude, 

If  vaunted  unwisely — unwittingly  said, 

Not  otherwise. — Pardon  me  ;  is  it  well  bred, 

Albeit  you  rank  as  society's  star," 

(He  held  in  his  fingers  a  guilty  cigar,) 

"  To  poison  the  air  with  no  more  perturbation 

Than  marks  every  act,  for  your  own  delectation  ?  " 


XI. 


Miss  Mora  McBride  had  a  resolute  soul ; 
This  attribute  forges  the  key  to  her  whole 
Uncommon  and  many-hued  destiny  ;  born 
To  combat  the  rigors  of  fortune,  the  thorn, 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  ; 

Which  sprang  from  the  hard,  impecunious  soil 
Of  ceaseless  endeavor  and  cankering  toil, 
Had  entered  the  flesh,  but  to  measure  its  length 
With  obstinate  tendons  of  venomous  strength. 

XII. 

If  a  resolute  spirit  but  fixes  its  eye 
On  some  pinnacled  purpose  sufficiently  high 
To  shun  the  besetments  that  rise  in  the  way — 
The  selfish  allurements  that  lead  it  astray, — 
'T  will  cleave  every  effort  to  fetter  its  wing, 
And  each  aspiration  its  answer  will  bring  ; 
As  even  the  torch  that  the  tempests  outlast, 
Is  the  torch  borne  aloft  on  the  crest  of  the  blast. 

XIII. 

Miss  Mora  McBride,  as  is  often  the  case, 

Succeeded  in  reaching  the  parvenu's  place 

In  society's  ranks,  by  simply  ignoring 

Significant  glances,  and  smiles  unadoring ; 

And  measuring  life  by  advantages  gained, 

She  rarely  relaxed  till  the  end  was  attained. 

The  means  were  inconsequent ;  shrewd,  without  pride, 

Her  far-seeing  vision  acutely  descried 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

The  road  to  her  object ;  albeit  't  were  strewn 
With  prayers,  or  reproaches,  or  terrors.     As  soon 
The  tiger,  beguiled  from  his  scent,  turn  away, 
As  Mora  McBride  from  her  well-chosen  prey. 
This  unrefined  woman,  with  consummate  art, 
Was  playing  a  pulseless  and  passionless  part  ; 
The  smile  on  her  wide  lip  was  dreary  and  dry, 
And  half-filtered  gleams  lit  her  beady  black  eye. 
Her  conquests  diminished  as  years  grew  apace  ; 
And  memory,  with  some  added  lines  on  her  face, 
And  a  name  not  unsullied  were  all  that  remained 
Of  dreams  unfulfilled,  or  a  point  unattained. 


XIV. 


On  the  Mediterranean,  eastward  from  Nice — 
The  heart  of  her  impulse,  as  Athens  of  Greece — 
The  traveller  recalls,  how  a  glittering  vision 
Invites  the  tired  eye  up  the  slopes  of  elysian 
Delights  ;  how  the  masses  of  marble  and  green — 
With  perfume  and  fountain  and  foliage  between — 
Look  tenderly  down  on  the  tideless  old  sea, 
And  the  dim,  windless  places  that  lie  on  the  lea  ; 
How  up  the  broad  terrace  they  tirelessly  go, — 
Old  age  and  young  maidenhood — thither  and  fro, 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

To  deal  with  despair,  both  the  timid  and  bold, 

While  their  pulses  keep  time  to  the  clink  of  the  gold  ; 

And  yet,  among  all  of  the  eager-faced  train, 

So  hectic  of  cheek,  and  bewildered  of  brain, 

Who  madly  defy  all  that  fate  can  command, 

On  the  turn  of  a  wheel  or  the  trick  of  a  hand, 

Not  one  played  his  game  with  more  desperate  will, 

Or  tangled  his  victim  with  readier  skill, 

Or  treasured  his  triumphs  with  heartier  pride, 

Than  she,  the  bold  gamester — this  Mora  McBride. 


xv. 


Blondell  was  a  man  of  the  Jesuit  type  ; 
Unsound  at  the  core,  like  a  pear  over-ripe. 
He  always  a  peared  in  the  most  approved  styles, 
Concealing  his  moods  in  the  rarest  of  smiles. 
Too  bland  for  a  cynic,  too  wise  for  a  saint, 
Too  worldly  for  either,  he  scorned  the  restraint 
Of  laws  artificial,  though  fixed  by  the  same 
Contrariotous  world  that  he  worshipped — the  name 
Of  which,  by  the  way,  is  Society — wherein 
He  sought  to  maintain  his  judicial  bearing  ; 
For,  being  a  lawyer  of  greatest  persistence, 
'T  was  rightful  to  sift  any  law  in  existence. 


IO  THE   LOVES  OF  PAUL   FENLY. 

His  club  and  his  freedom  he  vastly  preferred, 

Yet  swayed  with  the  weight  of  each  fair  woman's  word  ; 

Repentant  full  soon,  and  too  selfish,  in  sooth, 

To  tangle  his  life  in  the  meshes  of  truth. 

But  of  all  that  his  enemies  essayed  to  prove, 

They  never  accused  him  of  being  in  love. 


XVI. 


Fulfilling  the  office  of  simple  narrator, 
These  latter  remarks  may  have  no  raison  d'etre, 
Any  more  than  the  actor,  playing  a  part, 
Should  need  to  explain,  or  the  artist  his  art 
Should  seek  to  elucidate  ;  still,  in  this  man 
Are  found  inconsistencies  marring  the  plan 
Of  nature's  sweet  harmonies. 

Order  and  class, 

In  leaves  of  the  forest,  and  blades  of  the  grass, 
Follow  each  uniformly,  but  may  go  astray 
In  man,  as  a  melody  loses  its  way 
And  wanders  in  chords  in  indefinite  chime, 
Yet,  true  to  its  musical  numbers,  keeps  time. 
What  epicure  was  it,  with  senses  so  fine 
That  palled  on  his  tastes  were  his  viands  and  wine, 
And  fixed  with  a  spirit  of  change  in  his  diet, 
Chose  horseflesh  to  sate  the  unusual  disquiet 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  II 

Of  cloyed  appetite  ?     So  this  Rupert  Blondell 
With  a  world  of  refinement  about  him — Ah  well ; 
'T  is  a  world  of  experiments.     This  is  the  lesson  : 
The  act  unaesthetic,  we  lay  the  least  stress  on. 


XVII. 


"  Ah,  madam,  I  know  not  which  most  to  admire — 

Your  charming  ingenue,  or  stately  satire  ; 

The  meeting  is  yours  ;  I  am  quite  at  your  service," 

He  said,  with  a  smile  that  was  wholly  impervious. 

The  lady  continued  :  "  I  wrote  you  a  letter," 

He  blandly  retorted  :  "  You  should  have  known  better  ;• 

Words  spoken  dissolve,  like  icicles  in  rain  ; 

But  ink  is  a  witness  we  challenge  in  vain." 

She  answered  :  "  'T  is  true  the  words  you  have  spoken 

Are,  like  ice  in  your  metaphor,  easily  broken  ; 

But  let  me  assure  you,  without  repartee, 

The  time  has  arrived  when  diplomacy 

No  longer  avails  ;  I  am  fully  aware 

Of  your  dainty  delay,  and  the  ash  your  cigar 

Reduces  to  frailness,  the  sport  of  your  leisure, 

Holds  tenure  as  firmly  as  I,  on  your  pleasure. 

This  night  was  the  test  ;  in  its  scales  I  have  thrown, 

With  desperate  impulse,  the  Lydian  stone 


12  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Of  my  fateful  life.     The  result  ?     I  am  dross 

In  crucibles  social.     But  mark  me  !  the  loss 

We  will  pocket  together  ;  you  shall  not  escape, 

Though  Hades'  broad  portals  were  standing  agape  ! 

I  am  lost  to  society  ;  lost  is  my  life, 

Unless  you  redeem  me,  and  make  me  a  wife." 

"  How  long  you  've  been  missing  then,  Mora,  my  dear  "- 

And  his  fine  lip  put  on  a  perceptible  sneer, 

But  the  look  on  her  face  was  so  bitter  and  wan 

That  the  gray  marble  stone  he  was  leaning  upon 

Grew  chill  to  his  touch,  and  the  shadows  that  fell 

Seemed  less  apathetic  than  Rupert  Blondell. 

XVIII. 

As  she  came,  so  sub  rosa  the  lady  returned, 

Though  her  heart  for  his  answer  with  eagerness  burned. 

He  lifted  his  hat — 't  was  an  "  opera  crush," 

Not  required  to  conceal  any  possible  flush, 

For  his  face  was  as  immobile,  stony,  and  still 

As  the  moonbeams  that  lie  on  a  far  distant  hill. 

XIX. 

Oh,  misguided  woman  ;  how  blighted  the  sense 
That  sees  in  the  world  and  its  morbid  pretence 


Incentive  more  sweet  and  more  subtle,  supreme 
Than  dwells  in  the  selfhood  of  woman  ;  ah,  deem 
The  hypocrite's  garb  no  less  sinful  than  sin, 
Or  the  panoplied  purpose  sincere,  for  the  thin 
And  mocking  devices  of  virtue  it  wears, 
In  disguise  of  the  blemish  it  secretly  bears. 


xx. 


"  Unless  you  redeem  me  and  make  me  a  wife  !  " 
These  accents  adhered,  like  a  thing  that  had  life, 
To  his  brain.     One  by  one,  in  obedient  array, 
He  recalled  and  renewed  them,  then  filed  them  away, 
In  the  snug  pigeon-holes  of  his  mind,  to  await 
The  manoeuvres  of  war,  in  the  tactics  of  fate. 

XXI. 

Mad  music,  gay  voices,  confusion  and  din  — 
Wheels  whirling  without,  and  heads  whirling  within  — 
The  banqueting  done  —  the  "  good-nights  "  lightly  said 
The  guests  and  the  glories  together  have  sped. 
But  never  a  banquet  or  ball  was  there  yet, 
Where  passion  and  pleasure  together  are  met, 
Where  fancy,  and  fashion,  and  folly  beguile 
The  judgment  from  soberer  ways  for  the  while, 


14  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL   FENLY. 

But  furnished  some  pivot — a  pique  or  caprice — 
For  changing  the  motives  of  life,  or  its  peace 
Into  pain  ;  and  of  all  the  regrets  we  recall, 
How  many  bear  date  of  some  revel,  or  ball  ? 

XXII. 

For  full  half  a  month  did  Miss  Mora  McBride 

Find  consummate  unction  in  nursing  her  pride. 

Her  moods,  always  moulded  in  equal  degree 

To  man's  adulation,  habitually 

Put  by  the  subjunctive,  assuring  her  friends, 

That  whatever  the  means,  the  substantial  ends 

Of  her  schemes  were  achieved.     Her  laughter  was  loud, 

And  her  visage,  uncoaxed  by  cosmetics,  was  plowed 

With  the  unyielding  lines  of  a  purpose  begun, 

Or  combats  decided — not  easily  won. 

Her  secret  she  kept,  taking  counsel,  in  brief, 

Of  previous  adventures  which  brought  her  to  grief. 

But  of  this,  more  anon  ;  enough  for  this  story, 

That  plans  for  the  future  career  of  Miss  Mora 

Included  Blondell — though,  in  sooth,  she  forgot 

To  reckon  this  item  in  casting  her  lot  : 

That  love,  like  the  creed  of  our  best  orthodoxy, 

Embraces  the  scheme  of  salvation  by  proxy. 


CANTO   II. 


IN  the  difficult  light,  when  the  day  is  done, 
And  the  tawny  fingers  of  night  have  begun 
To  twine  in  a  love-knot  the  shadows  and  glints, 
And  tie  them  together  with  pale  neutral  tints 
Of  opal  and  amber  and  amethyst, 
In  a  soft,  uncertain,  irresolute  twist  ; 
When  the  gray  lids  fall  on  the  dull,  drowsy  eyes 
Of  the  sapphire  sea,  there  will  sometimes  arise, 
From  the  shrouding  mists  of  the  sepulchred  west, 
Like  a  taper  new  lit  by  a  dead  nun's  breast, 
A  hurrying  flame,  as  if  worlds  in  their  flight 
"  Might  have  lashed  their  dull  steeds  into  flecks  of  light  " 
In  their  race  with  the  sun. 

Then  the  eager  hills 

Hold  their  ample  laps,  while  the  evening  fills 
Every  darkening  fold, — and  the  world  below 
Is  immersed  in  one  fathomless  Afterglow. 
15 


1 6  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

II. 

When  passion  and  reason  tend  each  to  a  side, 
With  paths  so  divergent,  't  is  hard  to  decide. 
One  leads  by  some  Lethe,  with  lotus-lined  heights 
Of  poplars,  and  myrtles,  and  wimpled  delights  ; 
The  other,  through  ice  fields  and  stormy  debris, 
Invites  to  the  open  and  infinite  sea ; 
And  many  the  feet,  like  the  trailing  mimosa, 
Get  lost  in  the  jungled  "  via  dolorosa" 


in. 


Not  so  with  the  hero  of  Mora ;  he  scans 

With  an  eye  self-serene  his  sufficient  plans  ; 

He  contemplates  conjugal  cares  with  a  smile, 

Relinquishing  all  speculations.     Meanwhile 

He  remembers  his  vows,  (though  why  should  a  woman 

Beguile  him  of  freedom  in  ways  so  inhuman  ?) 

His  club  and  his  comrades,  his  horses  and  hounds, 

His  cups  and  caresses,  with  all  that  redounds 

To  fame  as  a  worldling — that  sweetest  of  words 

Which  naught  but  the  bachelor's  license  affords — 

He  holds  indivisible,  sans  separation, 

As  scientists  hold  the  monads  of  creation. 


THE   LOVES   OF  PAUL   FENLY.  I/ 


And  so,  in  the  light  of  the  soft  afterglow 

Of  the  heavens  above  and  the  earth  below, 

This  sage,  philosophic  adherent  of  Chitty 

Walked  over  the  hills  that  environ  the  city, 

Past  terrace,  and  garden,  and  lawn,  and  sand-dune, 

And  scented  the  flowers — for  the  wayside  was  strewn 

With  cool  trailing  arbutus,  crisply  entwined, 

And  violets  breathing  the  sweet  summer  wind— 

And  solaced  his  soul  with  a  certain  design, 

Which  future  events  will  best  serve  to  define. 


For  Rupert  Blondell  counted  friends  by  the  score, 

And  each  in  selection  some  relevance  bore 

To  interests  personal.     "  Friendships  are  well, 

As  serving  one's  purpose,"  quoth  Rupert  Blondell  ; 

And  whether  a  song  or  a  sermon,  the  measure 

Of  every  man's  worth  must  comport  with  his  pleasure. 


VI. 


Contemplating,  therefore,  the  list  of  his  friends, 
Computing  the  chances  of  gaining  his  ends, 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Concealing  the  means,  his  artistic  eye  fell — 
With  wit  not  unworthy  of  Rupert  Blondell — 
On  the  sweetest  of  prey,  one  whom  vulturous  eyes 
Of  females  who  seek  for  some  coveted  prize 
On  the  shoals  of  society,  longed  to  impale 
On  fast  fading  charms. 

Also  Mora,  the  frail 

And  care-fretted  fabric  of  passion,  began, 
With  the  eye  of  the  worldly-wise  woman,  to  scan. 
She  quickly  discerned  this  same  self-saving  spar, 
While  drifting  away  from  her  moorings  afar  ; 
This  man  of  all  men  the  most  easy  to  win, 
If  only  she  knew  where  't  were  wise  to  begin — 
With  his  learning,  his  smiles,  and  his  pale-brown  locks, 
His  blandness,  and  gold,  and  his  interest  in  stocks. 
A  stranger  albeit— she  received  this  with  unction, 
Such  accident,  leaving  her  free  from  compunction. 
Her  record — most  students  have  vision  contracted — 
Looked  best  in  a  light  just  a  little  refracted  ; — 
And  wearied  with  hopes  her  hard  fate  to  reform, 
This  prospect  she  hailed,  as  her  port  in  a  storm. 


CANTO  III. 


T  F  faces  were  fortunes,  ay,  verily  then, 

*     Paul  Fenly  had  been  the  most  affluent  of  men  ; 

If  ballads  and  oracles  fitly  combined, 

Then  blue  eyes  and  dimples  in  truth  are  enshrined  ; 

But  candor  and  constancy  consort  with  grace, 

Nor  stamp  their  initials  on  any  man's  face  ; 

And  many  the  serpent  in  wait  to  beguile, 

Lies  coiled  in  the  mesh  of  a  subtilized  smile. 

With  a  form  that  Adonis  might  envy,  in  truth, 

This  sweetly  serene  and  ingenuous  youth — 

He  was  scarce  five  and  twenty — won  mighty  applause, 

For  his  accurate  knowledge  of  hygienic  laws. 

Of  life,  and  its  mainsprings,  relations,  and  rules  : 

A  matriculate  of  the  Heidelberg  schools 

Is  sometimes  the  master  of  more  than  the  arts 

Of  duelling,  hazing,  and  love-making  parts. 


2O  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

II. 

When  scarce  more  than  twenty — the  rumor  was  rife 

Wherever  he  went — he  had  taken  a  wife 

From  his  own  lowly  grade  in  society's  strata  ; 

But  subsequent  changes  had  fixed  an  errata, 

Where  romance  had  ended  and  life  had  begun 

In  earnest.     Indeed,  he  perceived  that  the  one 

He  had  taken  to  wife,  for  better  for  worse, 

— Your  pardon,  O  reader,  if  statements  seem  terse — 

Had  proven  a  plebeian.     How  wondrously  wise 

He  had  grown  in  these  years  !     But  no  need  to  disguise 

That  Paul  was  progressive.     In  his  therapeutique, 

A  repudiation,  like  pauses  in  music, 

Gives  zest  to  the  movement. 

But  really  we  find 

Too  often  the  helpmeet  comes  lagging  behind 
In  the  rhythm  of  life. 

Ah,  woman,  keep  time  ; 

The  high  vantage-ground  you  may  gain,  if  the  rhyme 
And  step  of  ascent  be  of  equal  division — 
But  marriage  demands  such  exceeding  precision. 

in. 

For  reasons  like  these  had  Paul  Fenly  declined 
To  fetter  his  feet  with  a  weight.     To  the  wind 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL   FENLY.  21 

His  scruples  he  flung,  and,  as  one  may  a  gown, 
He  put  by  his  wife  like  a  garment  outgrown. 


IV. 


This  story  is  not  one  of  sanctified  folk, 
Nor  wherein  the  writer  can  hope  to  evoke 
A  soft  sigh  of  sympathy.     Patterns  for  youth 
May  be  sought  for  in  books  less  pretentious  of  truth  ; 
Yet  candor  compels  the  unwilling  confession, 
That  sin  seems  more  subtile  till  given  expression  ; 
And  molecules  float  as  impalpable  things 
Unquickened  by  shapes,  and  unfurnished  with  wings, 
But  give  them  an  animate  presence,  a  note, 
A  plume,  and  a  poise,  and  the  air  is  afloat 
With  threnody,  discord,  chromatic  or  trill, 
Ecstatic  or  sad,  as  the  melody  will. 


v. 


How  truthful  soever  a  record  may  seem, 

The  unwritten  part  is  the  better,  I  deem. 

So  therefore,  "the  cause  why,"  the  record  of  Paul 

Showed  deeds  which  politer  interpreters  call 

"  Intrigue,"  or  "affairs,"  or  some  unmeaning  name, 

Which  takes  any  signification,  from  fame 


22  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

To  infamy,  just  as  society  please, 

— For  all  reputation  is  but  a  caprice — 

Just  why,  to  repeat,  it  were  idle  to  question  ; 

Sufficient  that  those  whose  best  right  to  insist  on 

Some  rendering,  or  writ  of  account,  or  negation, 

Condoned  all  offences,  and  waived  explanation, 

As  subsequent  parts  of  this  story  will  show 

Those  most  interested  conveniently  do. 

En  passant — exhibit  the  scarlet  of  woman, 

To  vex  social  bulls  to  a  fury  inhuman. 

VI. 

Now  sweetly  embalmed  in  the  wrappings  of  sighs, 
And  half-hidden  tears  from  a  hundred  bright  eyes, 
The  past  of  Paul  Fenly  is  gladly  resigned 
To  such  lethean  flow  as  his  conscience  may  find. 
By  future  events  he  may  stand  or  may  fall, 
Faith  shelters  the  few— Mercy  covereth  all. 

VII. 

Well  panoplied  now  in  his  newly  laid  schemes, 

And  yet  unaware  that  the  rose-colored  dreams 

Of  Mora  had  borrowed  some  prismatic  glow 

From  his  mind's  bevelled  glass,  which  marks  the  o'erflow 


THE  LOVES  OF.  PAUL   FENLY.  2$ 

Of  thought  long  accustomed  to  wander  at  will, 
As  marks  water-cresses  the  course  of  the  rill, 
Blondell  smote  the  clover  that  grew  at  his  feet, 
And  murmuring  some  words  't  were  unwise  to  repeat, 
He  quickly  returned  as  the  daylight  grew  wan, 
To  keep  an  engagement  with  Paul,  at  the  "  Swan." 


VIII. 


Though  quite  unaccustomed  to  revel  or  riot, 

Blondell  sipped  his  wine  in  unusual  quiet — 

A  fact  which  caused  Fenly  a  little  surprise, 

For  a  sage  must  not  needs  be  society-wise, 

And  Paul  was  a  sage  in  his  way,  though  untaught, 

In  lines  which  impel  human  motive  and  thought. 

So  therefore,  when  Rupert  seemed  ennuyed  and  bored, 

Young  Fenly  was  bland,  and  sincerely  deplored 

The  state  of  his  health,  and  averred,  without  question, 

A  glass  of  good  cordial  would  aid  his  digestion. 


IX. 


Then  straight  laying  anchor  to  windward,  Blondell, 
With  true  Machiavelian  manoeuvring,  fell 
On  topics  in  range  with  his  thought — if  perchance 
His  plan  he  should  forward,  his  projects  enhance, 


24  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

By  luring  the  fancy,  through  soft  lulling  words, 

To  such  eager  heights  as  illusion  affords. 

He  spoke — in  the  abstract — of  womanly  grace, 

Adapting  adroitly  each  figure  and  face 

To  Mora's.     He  modelled  a  character,  too, 

In  eloquent  phrase,  as  he  artfully  drew, 

Fictitious  or  faithfully,  qualities  such 

As  while  en  rapport,  not  confronting  too  much 

The  sensuous  eye  of  adventurous  Paul, 

Still  captured  his  ardor,  and  held  it  in  thrall. 

Felicitous  always,  this  artist  had  never 

Made  silhouette  clearer,  or  sketches  more  clever ; 

And  low  in  the  depths  of  Paul  Fenly's  vain  soul, 

There  burned  the  ambition  his  name  to  enroll 

Alongside  Blondell's  ;  and  with  him  to  divide 

The  pastime  of  flirting  with  Mora  McBride. 


x. 


The  dinner  concluded,  each  rose  to  depart ; 
And  lighting  a  weed,  with  his  hand  on  his  heart 
(In  his  overcoat  pocket)  Blondell  made  an  oath, 
That  the  charmer  had  virtues  sufficient  for  both  ; 
And  friendship  inspired  him  to  offer  with  pride, 
Next  day  to  present  him  to  Mora  McBride. 
Addendum.     It  argues  the  closest  of  ties, 
To  be  able  to  see  through  another  man's  eyes. 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  2$ 

XI. 

"  The  greatest  is  charity,"  ponder  them  well, 

These  words  that  from  lips  sad  and  sinless,  once  fell 

Like  cool  drops  of  water  on  fever-fed  faces, 

Or  shadowy  rocks,  along  wearisome  places  ; 

"  The  greatest  is  charity  "  ;  verily  who 

But  needs  all  the  charity  earth  can  bestow  ? 

Whatever  the  act,  whether  wicked  or  wise, 

The  spirit  of  Mora's  proposed  compromise 

With  conscience,  assuming  that  recrimination 

Should  furnish  in  some  way  self-justification, 

She  calmly  proposed  for  her  sins  to  atone, 

By  making  another's  accord  with  her  own, — 

A  sort  of  non  sequitur  process  ;  but  then, 

Some  women  leave  logic  and  ethics  to  men. 

To  her  plaintive  presumption,  Blondell  the  astute 

Gave  quick  acquiescence,  and  waiving  dispute 

About  the  exactness  of  Themis'  scales, 

With  one  side  for  women,  the  other  for  males, 

They  planned  their  first  meeting  with  Fenly,  and  rested  ; 

All  future  conditions  in  destiny  vested. 


CANTO   IV. 


TWO  weeks  ;  and  Paul  Fenly  and  Mora  McBride 
Had  vowed  each  to  each  that,  whatever  betide, 
The  path  of  their  future,  through  sunshine  or  tears, 
—Less  long  for  the  bride  by  a  number  of  years- 
Should  lie  alongside,  and  within  these  few  days, 
—A  fortnight 's  forever,  when  haply  one  plays 
For  a  life  stake— that  each  had  delightedly  learned, 
How  hollow  the  world,  and  how  wholly  it  turned 
On  smiles  and  caresses,  and  that  sort  of  thing, 
And  ended  of  course  with  a  trousseau  and  ring. 


ii. 


"  No  cards  ?  "  traitor  thought ;  when  the  long  march  is  do 
When  camp-fires  are  wasted,  and  battles  are  won  ; 
When  homeward  the  victor  in  triumph  returns, 

26 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  2J 

While  hotly  his  thought  with  expectancy  burns, 

Who  then  should  abandon — the  roof-tree  in  sight — 

The  colors  he  won  in  the  heat  of  the  fight  ? 

"  No  cards  ?  "  Opportunity  gapes  in  amaze  ; 

And  social  diplomacy's  eyes  are  ablaze  ; 

There  were  foes  to  be  captured,  and  friends  to  be  won, 

Through  prudent  finales  which  chance  had  begun  ; 

And  policy,  such  as  a  pasteboard  "at  home," 

In  fingers  so  cunning,  so  cool,  and  aplomb, 

Was  surely  not  used  by  this  intriguing  person 

As  means  to  convey  either  love  or  aversion  ; 

But  wisely  as  serpents,  (not  et  cetera) 

Proceeded  Miss  Mora  with  her  coup  d'ttat. 

First  came  on  the  list,  an  array  of  the  names 

Of  those  who  had  lost  in  the  lotteried  games 

Of  "  making  a  catch,"  in  her  own  classic  phrase — 

Your  pardon,  some  ladies  have  prononce  ways — 

Then  school-mates  passe  or  unhappily  wed, 

A  few  nice  young  men,  and  a  few  underbred — 

There  were  busy  reporters,  and  traitors  and  friends, 

All  masking  together  to  suit  their  own  ends. 

And  finally,  all — not  excepting,  in  truth, 

Nor  sister,  nor  brother,  nor  friend  of  her  youth — 

All  sneered  as  they  smiled,  while  appeared  side  by  side, 

The  names  of  Paul  Fenly  and  Mora  McBride. 


28  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL   FENLV. 

III. 

And  prophecy  saw,  what  tne  world  wotted  not : 
How  yielding  the  future,  how  hapless  the  lot 
Of  a  woman  aloof,  who,  with  pivotless  poise, 
Seeks  yielding  support  in  those  languishing  joys, 
That  spring  from  such  sordid,  unhallowed  places, 
As  marital  markets  for  loveless  embraces. 


IV. 


The  nuptials  were  done  and  forgotten  ;  the  rent 
On  the  sea  of  society  closed  ;  the  event — 
The  jeer  of  both  club  and  cafe  lor  the  while, 
Like  yesterday's  newspaper  placed  upon  file — 
O'erlapped  by  some  subsequent  scene  or  sensation, 
Had  finally  ceased  to  invite  speculation. 
Meanwhile  the  ambitious,  successful  madame 
More  sweetly  serene  and  self-righteous  became  ; 
She  patronized  those  whom  she  dared  not  ignore, 
And  placidly  smiled  on  her  patrons  of  yore. 
All  visiting  cards  with  a  notable  name 
Were  placed  in  conspicuous  places.     The  same 
Ingenuous  grace  was  bestowed  upon  those 
Exceptional  persons  who  annually  chose 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  29 

— And  who  could  afford  without  loss  of  condition 

Or  quality  caste — to  make  recognition 

Of  honest  advance  toward  gaining  those  ends 

Which  ill-natured  people  call  "making  amends." 

And  if,  as  domestics  were  wont  to  recall,  » 

She  posed  for  "  Madame  "  in  the  main  servants  hall, 

'T  were  pity  that  Mora  should  e'er  have  survived 

The  innocent  joys  from  such  pastime  derived. 


CANTO  V. 


HOW  fares  it  with  Fenly,  his  roots  and  his  verbs, 
His  clubs  and  flirtations,  his  billiards  and  herbs  ? 
With  face  irresponsible,  yielding,  mobile, 
With  smile  irresistibly  sweet  and  facile, 
With  even  a  voice  quite  persuasively  keyed 
For  passion  or  pity — to  purr  or  to  plead, — 
He  fully  maintained  his  well  earned  reputation, 
Of  masking  his  moods  with  all  imperturbation. 

ii. 

Albeit  he  laughed  with  his  scholarly  guest, 
As  he  tossed  the  Tokay  with  all  manifest  zest, 
A  clever  observer  would  surely  discern 
The  whitening  smile,  and  the  half-furtive  turn 
Of  wide-open  eyes,  as  the  rustling  gown, 
Or  the  perfume  of  musk  through  the  draperies  blown, 

30 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  31 

Announced  the  approach  of  his  wife.     Yet  of  all 

The  casual  comers  who  most  valued  Paul, 

For  rare  contributions  to  their  epicurean 

Tastes,  there  was  not  among  them,  I  am  sure,  one 

Who  saw  through  the  mists  of  his  own  pampered  sense 

The  causes  which  led  to  such  subtle  pretence 

As  Fenly  essayed.     So  therefore  't  will  be  better, 

For  reasons  apparent,  to  scan  his  last  letter 

To  one  of  his  fellows,  his  old  college  mate  ; 

'T  is  simply  transcribed  without  address  or  date. 


in. 


"  Your  letter  received — many  thanks — I  am  bored  ; 
Though  how  could  you  guess  it  ?     I  give  you  my  word, 
That  when  I  wrote  you,  I  had  no  such  intention 
As  casting  a  mould  for  my  moods,  and  I  mention 
The  subject  now  even,  because  I  'm  in  doubt 
Concerning  how  much  of  my  secret  is  out. 
'T  is  hard  to  comply  with  your  modest  request 
To  cancel  my  folly  by  making  "  clean  breast " 
Of  subjects  perplexing.     One  scarcely  can  stand 
In  the  shadow  one's  self,  and  with  master  command 
Compel  the  broad  sunlight  to  sift  the  dark  places, 
Save  only  such  space  as  his  image  embraces. 


32  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

But  we,  my  dear  fellow,  in  bygones  have  had 

Our  innings  together,  for  good  or  for  bad. 

My  heart,  if  I  have  one,  has  opened  to  you, 

And  all  it  contains,  be  it  false,  be  it  true, 

Is  yours  to  command.     Well,  't  is  something  this  wise  : 

You  know  what  a  marriage  too  hasty  implies 

In  adage,  and  deed.     But  must  it  needs  follow, 

That  projects  unripe  are  all  bound  to  be  hollow  ? 

1  Be  off  with  the  old  '  is  both  honest  and  wise, 

But  since  I  am  neither,  why  seek  to  disguise 

The  rather  unsavory  truth  from  my  friend, 

That  where  to  begin,  or  wherever  to  end, 

Has  always  perplexed,  and  so  put  me  about, 

And  filled  me  with  fears,  that  I  'm  really  in  doubt, 

If  loves  are  not  all — both  the  old  and  the  new, 

To  take  a  reflex,  Pythagorean  view — 

Some  phantasmagoria,  assuming  new  shapes, 

As  oysters  are  men,  or  as  angels  were  apes. 

But  space  will  admonish,  however  I  skirt 

The  uneasy  edge  of  my  subject,  and  flirt 

With  fancy  or  persiflage.     One  of  my  old 

And  chosen  of  charmers,  with  tresses  of  gold, 

And  eyes  of  deep  sapphire — and  that  sort  of  thing, 

You  know  how  the  rhymes  of  Anacreon  ring — 

Incited  mayhap  by  some  harrowing  thought 

Of  vengeance — though  she,  I  may  note,  too,  had  sought 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  33 

Some  alleviation  in  "marriage  withall — 

One  day  at  my  rooms  paid,  personne,  a  call ; 

And  there  with  those  lips  I  had  rapturously  kissed 

In  days  ante-nuptial,  she  fitfully  hissed 

Her  shameless,  unutterable,  harrowing  story, 

Which,  let  it  suffice,  wholly  scandalized  Mora. 

Now  laugh,  my  good  Carl,  but  pursue  to  the  end. 

This  charmer — whose  tale  may  kind  Heaven  forefend 

I  ever  should  question — had  wisely  provided 

The  proofs,  which,  however,  discretion  had  chided 

On  every  page,  and  in  every  line. 

So  amorous  impulses  always  combine 

With  conscience,  to  check  the  precipitate  part, 

By  charging  the  larger  amount  to  the  heart. 

(N.  B.     Would  you  seek  a  base  act  to  disprove, 

Demurely  declare  yourself  blindly  in  love.) 

Now  rational  men  would  undoubtedly  reason 

Such  marital  statement  must  savor  of  treason  ; 

So  much  I  admit,  only  this  would  disprove 

My  course  is  exempt — I  'm  not  blindly  in  love. 

Then  why  should  I  marry  ?     Fate  forges  some  fetters, 

And  hides  the  key  in  a  bundle  of  letters. 

Beside,  too,  our  nuptials  are  half  a  year  old, 

And  you,  my  dear  fellow,  need  scarcely  be  told 

How  lucky  I  am  to  discover  the  link 

In  destiny's  chain  that  is  broken.     Just  think 


34  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

How  tame  and  unflavored  this  life  would  become, 

With  only  the  hackneyed  accents  of  home, 

And  wife,  and  fidelity — all  orthodox, — 

But  excuse  me,  your  hand — I  'm  out  of  that  box. 

I  've  told  you  thus  much  of  my  story,  dear  Carl, 

Unseeking  your  sympathy — really  the  snarl 

Is  quickly  untangled,  the  one  thing  to  meet 

Is  found  in  all  circles,  in  salon  or  street. 

'T  is  prejudice  !     You  on  that  side  of  the  world 

Can  well  understand  how  a  man  may  be  hurled 

From  the  Tarpeian  heights  of  society's  slopes, 

By  seeking  to  fashion  the  ground  where  he  hopes 

To  stand,  to  his  mind  ;  for  our  marriage  command, 

Though  based  on  an  error  as  false  as  the  sand, 

Is,  *  Thou  shalt  have  no  other  gods  before  me,' 

No  matter  how  plainly  perfidious  may  be 

The  god  one  is  fatefully  bound  to  ;  nor  yet, 

Was  ever  immunity  found  in  regret. 

This  letter  is  long,  and  confessedly  plain  ; 

I  '11  be  more  myself  when  I  write  you  again. 

In  truth,  I  propose  to  adopt  the  wise  course, 

Of  drawing  my  draughts  of  delights  from  some  source 

Less  poisonous.     There  is,  I  believe,  on  the  Ganges, 

A  point,  where  the  water  its  flow  interchanges 

With  rivers  unseen,  and  unmapped  in  the  charts 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  35 

Of  all  mortal  delineators  ;  the  parts 

At  this  ghostly  junction,  by  Vishnu  unblest, 

Bring  hapless  disaster,  and  fill  with  unrest 

The  life  of  the  man  whose  unfortunate  zeal 

Invites  him  to  plunge  in  the  waters  that  heal, 

Unheeding  the  pious  and  mystical  warning, 

Or  what  is  more  sinful,  its  subtleties  scorning. 

I  leave  it  with  you,  my  old  boy,  to  apply  ; 

And  now  for  the  nonce,  your  good  health,  and  good-bye." 


IV. 


However  untuneful,  or  out  of  accord 
With  congruous  seeming  these  lines,  they  afford 
A  capable  key  to  a  character  such, 
As  blameful,  shall  yet  not  be  blamed  overmuch. 
With  moral  perceptions  oblique  at  the  best, 
Paul  Fenly  saw  life  in  the  light  of  a  test 
Of  human  philosophies  ;  scorning  the  means 
To  attain,  he  declared,  the  reaper  who  gleans 
The  portion  most  large  of  the  kernels  of  pleasure, 
With  less  of  the  husks  of  contention,  may  measure 
His  life  with  the  longest ;  the  fulness  of  years 
Too  often  but  proving  the  fulness  of  tears. 


36  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

V. 

A  popular  verse  would  be  scarcely  the  place 
Wherein  to  consider,  with  fairness  or  grace, 
Those  rare  and  phenomenal  phases  of  mind 
To  which  the  unethical  man  is  inclined. 
Sufficient  that  Paul,  with  that  warp  of  desires 
Which  fitly  the  soul  of  the  subject  inspires, 
With  more  than  the  usual  alertness,  began 
His  course  to  retrace,  without  method  or  plan  ; 
Serene  in  the  thought  that,  whatever  betide, 
He  owed  no  allegiance  to  Mora  McBride. 
Nor  cared  that  so  finding  the  means  of  escape, 
The  doors  of  detraction  went  yawning  agape  ; 
Not  so  with  his  friend,  who  was  far  the  more  wise, 
Or  cunning  at  least,  as  his  letter  implies  : 

VI. 

"  Your  last  just  received  ;  what  a  consummate  noodle, 
To  fiddle  your  national  air  Yankee  Doodle 
While  other  folks  dance  to  some  riotous  rhythm 
Your  weakness  induces.     Not  sympathy  with  them, 
But  cowardice,  half  of  indifference,  move 
Your  measures.     Oh,  bosh  !  you  were  never  in  love. 
Now  take  the  advice  of  a  friend — Architecture, 
Of  all  arts  exact,  is  the  model.     Your  structure, 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL 


37 


If  reared  on  the  sands  of  suspicion  or  doubt, 

Must  stand  the  derision  of  royster  and  rout ; 

Begin  at  the  bottom,  make  certain  foundation, 

Then  follow  your  purpose,  without  perturbation  ; 

In  treating  a  malady,  scan  all  the  signs, 

And  symptom  the  case,  as  you  sample  your  wines, 

By  questioning  steps,  and  precautioned  removes, 

Through  highly  bred  flavors,  and  deeply  laid  grooves  ; 

And  be  sure  the  a  posteriori  logician 

May  seize  a  sequence  with  extremest  precision. 

More  plainly,  if  too  hypothetic  my  plan, 

Initiate  movements  by  '  spotting  your  man,' 

Quite  mindful  that  best  you  his  faith  may  beguile, 

By  some  confidential  assumptions  the  while, 

Respecting  yourself  and  your  half-revealed  story, 

With  some  semi-certain  allusions  to  Mora. 

'T  would  not  be  unlike  you,  in  order  to  shirk 

These  politic  details,  to  bungle  your  work  ; 

But  let  me  forewarn  you,  unless  you  succeed 

In  proving  your  marriage  a  fraud,  you  indeed 

Provoke  such  decree  as  no  law  may  exempt, 

The  surfeited  victim  of  common  contempt." 

VII. 

And  this  was  not  all  of  this  mettlesome  missive, 
But  let  it  suffice,  for  only  we  this  give, 


38  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

To  show  how  the  venturous  risk  their  advice, 
As  the  schemer  his  plot,  or  the  gamester  his  dice, 
On  the  green  cloth  of  Fate,  without  stanchion  or  stay, 
To  those  who  but  estimate  life  as  a  play. 


VIII. 


Paul  Fenly  was  puzzled  ;  the  way  was  not  plain, 
— Ways  always  are  dim,  't  wixt  the  morals  and  brain- 
And  science  fell  short  before  ethics  began, 
Thus  leaving  a  lapse  between  scholar  and  man. 
However,  this  learned  compounder  of  potions, 
Though  strongly  inclining  toward  his  own  notions, 
Began  to  discern  that,  whatever  his  will, 
He  surely  had  swallowed  another  man's  pill  ; 
So  straight  making  such  therapeutics  the  rule, 
As  fairly  pertain  to  the  Hahnemann  school, 
He  promptly  proceeded  his  nausea  to  smother, 
By  treating  one  dose  of  disgust  with  another. 


CANTO  VI. 


PHE  gray  mists  swung  down  by  the  low-sounding  shore, 

And  frosty-lipped  surf  bit  the  sands  on  the  floor 
Of  the  unsheltered  beach  ;  the  blue  windy  hills, 
Keeping  watch  over  shoulder  and  shroud  as  it  fills 
In  the  face  of  the  gale,  held  their  breath  in  amaze, 
As  the  storm  combed  their  temples  with  roughening  ways, 
Down  over  the  sea.     Up  the  querulous  street, 
With  meddlesome,  quizzing,  and  hurrying  feet, 
It  ambled,  and  swaggered,  and  chattered  along, 
Now  wandering  wayward,  now  mixed  with  the  throng  ; 
Unconscious,  uncaring,  unconquered  it  went, 
Till  the  last  beating  breath  of  the  storm  was  spent. 


IT. 


'T  was  just  such  a  morning  that  Fenly  elected 
To  visit  Blondell,  and  though  quite  unexpected 

39 


40  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

To  Rupert,  he  put  on  a  face  like  a  ritual, 

For,  noting  those  ways  not  in  Fenly  habitual, 

He  took  his  first  bearings  ere  Paul  had  a  chance 

His  preliminary  pickets  to  advance. 

"  Your  time  " — Fenly  spoke  ;  quoth  Blondell — "  is  my  own  ;  " 

There  was  something  sententious  and  dry  in  the  tone, 

As  crossing  the  floor,  he  wheeled  over  a  chair, 

And  lazily  offered  a  fragrant  cigar. 

Both  sat,  and  some  moments  quite  laggingly  ran, 

Till  finally  Paul  cleared  his  throat,  and  began  : 


m. 


"  I  Ve  come  with  another  man's  proofs,  don't  you  see, 

So  all  inadaptedness  rests  upon  me. 

It  may  be  the  man  has  o'erstated  his  case, 

In  such  an  event  't  is  our  business  to  trace 

The  facts  to  the  diverging  point,  don't  you  see  ? 

And  sift  out  suspicions,  or  make  them  agree." 


IV. 


Blondell  did  not  see,  but  he  looked  wondrous  wise, 
With  his  low-drooping  lids,  and  his  semi-closed  eyes  ; 
Then  winked  in  a  half-bored,  leisurely  fashion, 
As  lawyers  will  do,  when  some  question  they  pass  on. 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  41 

"  Observe,"  argued  Paul  with  unusual  aplomb, 

Now  grown  with  his  counsel  and  case  more  at  home, 

"  The  only  one  duped  in  this  novel  transaction 

Is  he,  whose  good  faith  we  must  draw  all  our  facts  from. 

Society,  seeing  their  votary's  plight, 

Betook  to  their  pinions,  and  made  hasty  flight, 

Especially  those — you  have  witnessed  such  things — 

Who,  wounded  themselves,  bore  the  shafts  in  their  wings." 

"  Now  I  see,"  answered  Rupert,  "our  client  's  a  fool  ;  " 

And  he  shifted  his  seat  in  his  sumptuous  fauteuil. 

Paul  laughed  in  a  high,  half-uncertain  falsetto, 

But  quickly  resumed  his  disordered  libretto, 

And  followed  with  speech  hypothetic,  while  we 

Have  followed  more  closely  the  story  per  se. 

"  The  wife,"  pursued  Fenly,  "  is  yet  unaware  ; 

Maintaining  unchallenged,  her  fine  debonair." 

"  Our  client  's  a  coward,"  quoth  Rupert,  in  haste, 

"  And  poorly  deserves  the  defence  which  you  waste — " 

Here  Paul  interposed — "  But  the  man  is,  alas  ! 

Half  maddened  " — quoth  Rupert,  "  Our  client  's  an  ass." 

Then  Fenly  rose  up  for  the  last  coup  d'etat, 

While  Rupert  exploded  a  syllabic,  "  Bah  !  " 

One  effort,  and  Paul  must  succumb  to  the  "  bluff," 

Albeit  of  proof  he  had  amply  enough 

In  Rupert's  affected  and  blase'  demeanor, 

But  how  to  entrap  this  ineffable  schemer 


42  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Was  surely  an  end  not  obtained  by  convictions, 
And  for  strangling  men,  he  had  no  predilections. 
"  Perhaps  I  neglected  to  mention  one  clew 
Of  evidence  ;  merely  to  satisfy  you, 
I  '11  add  that  the  letters  sufficiently  plain, 
Which  fell  in  the  hands  of  our  client,  remain, 
To  show  with  what  ready  and  genuine  skill 
A  man  may  contrive  his  caprice  to  fulfil." 


v. 


Now  here  was  occasion  for  tactics — no  crude 
Or  unrevised  statement,  however  imbued 
With  logic,  could  capably  cover  the  ground, 
Whereon  new  reprisals  might  tend  to  abound. 
Paul,  turning  to  Rupert,  looked  full  in  his  face  ; 
'T  was  simple,  sufficient,  with  never  a  trace 
Of  change,  or  alertness,  or  conscious  surprise, 
Save  only  a  dreaminess  crept  in  his  eyes, 
Enshackled  a  moment,  and  held  them  in  bay, 
As  fast  speeding  steeds,  when  a  cloud  breaks  away, 
And  flashes  of  light  unaccustomed  reveals 
Weird  scenes,  such  as  nature,  unsuaded,  conceals, 
Get  back  on  their  haunches,  defiant  nor  daunted, 
But  seized  by  some  swift  speculation,  enchanted. 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  43 

VI. 

'T  was  but  for  an  instant,  and  Paul  no  adept ; 
But  into  his  hiddenmost  instinct  there  crept 
A  swift  revelation,  dim  and  evasive, 
But  high  above  pleadings  and  verdicts  persuasive. 
It  sat  at  his  hearthstone  and  supped  in  his  brain, 
And  never  gave  respite  or  ransom  again. 
Take  note  !  it  was  only  vainglorious  pride 
That  felt  the  fine  treachery  of  Mora  McBride, 
And  when  he  departed,  he  cherished  no  grief 
That  investigation  sustained  his  belief. 

VII. 

For  Rupert  Blondell,  whatsoever  ensued 

It  must  be  confessed  that  his  "  method  "  was  good. 

The  cleverest  artist  may  err  in  his  sketch  : 

In  painting  a  distance,  expanse  may  outstretch, 

Or,  losing  a  moment  the  reckoning  line 

Of  vision,  may  slightly  refract  the  design  ; 

Exactly  how  Rupert  deflected  was  this  : 

Though  nothing  in  form  or  in  color  remiss, 

He  o'erlapped  the  margin  by  trying  his  tints, 

His  pigments  and  brushes,  thus  leaving  some  hints, 

Some  signs  which  betrayed  the  modus  operandi, 

And  which  for  best  reasons  he  cared  not  to  stand  by. 


44  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 


'T  is  wonder,  when  life  is  reduced  to  a  scroll, 
When  big  with  their  travail,  the  Heav'ns  shall  unroll, 
When  books  shall  be  opened,  and  actions  undid, 
And  hearts  and  intents  can  no  longer  be  hid, 
If  errors  and  crimes  shall  be  found  to  have  sexes, 
And  whether  the  question  of  gender  perplexes 
Savants  of  the  higher  and  ultimate  school, 
So  far — as  with  earthlings — as  quite  to  control 
All  edicts  and  verdicts,  or  if  they  define 
Transgression  as  masculine,  sin  feminine  ? 
Let  those  who  can  answer,  still  further  decide 
The  odds  between  Rupert  and  Mora  McBride. 

IX. 

Months  wasted,  and  Fenly  still  smilingly  went 

From  under  the  roof  of  his  heart's  discontent  : 

Went  forth  among  men,  and  as  smilingly  came, 

As  if  he  had  gained  his  most  coveted  aim. 

But  e'en  as  the  pulsings  of  Nature  express 

Recoil  and  advance,  as  her  means  to  progress, 

So  Paul's  retroactive  conditions  asserted 

A  law  of  his  life,  never  yet  controverted, 

That  loves,  like  the  tides,  have  their  ebbings  and  flow, 

As  billows  well  spent  mark  some  strong  undertow. 


CANTO  VII. 


HIGH  noon  in  the  suburbs  one  morning  in  May  ! 
The  tones  of  the  Angelus  slipping  away, 
Dropped  down,  one  by  one,  on  the  matinal  air, 
Like  telling  of  beads,  or  the  patter  of  prayer. 
The  lawns  of  the  nunnery  de  Notre  Dame 
Put  by  their  dull  role  of  habitual  calm, 
And  vocal  with  notes  of  their  annual  chime, 
Blent  color  or  chord  in  harmonious  rhyme  ; 
And  corridor,  court,  and  pavilion  were  rife 
With  the  jubilant  glow  of  young  animate  life. 

n. 

Fast  gathered  the  throng  from  afar  and  anear ; 
Fast  crowded  each  vestibule,  porch,  and  parterre. 
The  chapel,  afloat  with  translucent  attires, 
Forgot  the  dusk  prose  of  the  old  vestal  fires, 
And  honeys  swung  out  on  the  ambient  air, 
More  subtile  than  incense,  than  spices  more  rare 
45 


46  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Than  ever  from  censer  or  petal  were  blown, 
Or  chemist  distilled.     On  the  cool  marble  stone 
Of  shrine  and  of  chancel,  young  maidenhood  knelt 
One  moment  in  prayer.     Such  grace  as  might  melt 
The  adamant  heart  of  that  ground,  doubly  blest, 
Bowed  there  in  the  unstarry  stillness  of  rest 
And  pious  repose  ;  and  then  lifting  the  cheek, 
Like  lilies  half  blown  in  the  moonlight,  the  meek, 
Soulful  and  sufficient,  completely  poised  Nun, 
Kissed  lightly,  with  passionless  lip,  one  by  one, 
Each  maid  as  she  passed  her  in  loving  review, 
As  snow-flakes  fall  softly  on  roses  and  dew. 

in. 

A  stir,  then  a  rush,  and  the  screen  rolled  away, 
Like  many  another  on  festival  day, 
And  summery  skies  and  a  tropical  sea 
And  shadowy  ways  pictured  old  Galilee. 
A  chorus  of  voices  as  fresh  as  the  breeze 
That  stirs  the  young  leaf  as  it  leaps  from  the  trees 
Made  echo,  like  musical  birds  in  the  boughs 
When  life  is  one  song,  in  one  ecstasy  flows  ; 
Then  fast  fled  the  fairy-like  forms  to  the  vale, 
And  all  the  strong  melody  blent  in  one  wail, 
From  lips  that  were  wet  with  the  virginal  dews 
Of  young  inspiration. 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL   FENLY.  47 

IV. 

More  fully  the  Muse 

Holds  converse  serene  with  religious  sense, 
And  haply  more  potent  that,  shorn  of  pretence, 
This  maiden  abandoned  her  self-thoughtful  ways, 
And  yielded  her  power  to  pray'r  and  to  praise. 
When  therefore  in  meek  invocation  she  bowed, 
A  shaft  of  the  sun,  from  the  rift  in  a  cloud, 
Fell  deftly  aslant  on  the  sanctified  place, 
And  so  reillumined  the  pictured  young  face, 
As  kneeling,  she  clasped  her  slight  fingers  in  air, 
While  aureate  lights  fell  among  the  bright  hair, 
And  dropped  into  tints  in  the  shadow  of  pearls, 
And  draperied  crape,  like  the  sinuous  curls 
Of  water,  moon-lit  as  it  laps  round  the  stems 
Of  lilies  half  bent,  half  erect ;  while  the  gems 
Of  white  far-off  stars  set  their  stilly  repeat 
On  eyes  turned  to  Heaven,  that  holiest  retreat. 

v. 

The  prayer  changed  in  rhythm,  and  "  Father  forgive" 
Slid  fast  into  numbers  of  recitative  ; 
The  songstress  stood  up,  and  the  light  which  had  gilded 
Her  features  gave  way  to  an  ecstasy,  builded 


48  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Of  passionate  fires,  that  illumined  the  theme, 
And  justified  faith  in  adopting  the  scheme, 
Which  somewhat  entangles  the  way  to  salvation, 
But  which  one  accepts  as  one  should  revelation. 

VI. 

Albeit  Paul  Fenly,  in  music  inapt, 
In  fulness  of  soft  delectation  sat  wrapped 
As  round  with  a  garment  new-made,  for  a  spell 
Of  feeling,  half  awesome,  half  rapturous  fell 
On  heart  and  on  brain,  and  for  one  single  hour 
He  yielded  his  soul  to  the  sources  of  power 
Not  generic  here  in  the  flesh.     In  a  word, 
He  worshipped  in  spirit  the  name  of  the  Lord. 

VII. 

A  sensuous  mind  some  religion  may  thrill, 
But  a  sensuous  eye  only  woman  can  fill  ; 
And  Paul's  was  a  nature  compounding  the  whole 
Voluptuous  sense,  with  a  worshipful  soul. 

VIII. 

As  winds  from  the  west,  down  the  wet  meadows  blow, 
When  the  sun  is  at  rest  and  the  weak  moon  lies  low, 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  49 

So  wandered  the  strains  like  a  spirit  half  lost, 

Now  torn  by  fresh  sorrows,  now  hopelessly  tossed 

On  waves  of  unrest,  or  low-lying  complaint, 

Yet  seeking  some  goal  ere  the  spirit  should  faint ; 

But  e'en  while  the  lax  and  attenuate  tone 

Sank  low  in  the  soul,  and  seemed  lost  in  a  moan, 

A  kindling  chord  and  a  new-found  refrain 

Stirred  the  ash  of  despair  into  embers  again  ; 

And  the  uprising  impulse,  the  absolute  beat 

Of  baton  peremptory,  short  and  complete, 

Revested  the  spirit,  emboldened  the  heart, 

Impassioned  the  motive,  and  realized  art, 

Till  passion  and  pathos  so  actual  became, 

That  all  the  vast  audience  broke  forth  in  acclaim 

And  rapturous  applause,  while  the  anthem  of  praise, 

With  gathering  power  and  in  holiest  phrase, 

Uprose  with  the  tramp  of  a  host  battle-shod, 

And  the  oracle  bore  to  the  gates  of  God. 


IX. 


The  maid  with  the  aureate  lights  in  her  hair, 
Undreaming  her  triumph  should  serve  to  ensnare 
The  too  willing  thought  of  a  listener,  smiled 
A  smile  soft  and  special,  but  one  which  beguiled 


50  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

With  rhapsodic  dreams  the  remembrance  of  Paul, 
Who,  after  long  seasons,  was  wont  to  recall 
The  roseate  hues  of  this  scene  from  the  past, 
Like  one  single  star  when  the  skies  are  o'ercast. 


x. 


When  Augusts  are  ended,  and  autumn  suns  shine 
Through  vari-hued  boskage  and  crimsoning  vine, 
A  little  brown  workman  comes  out  of  the  haze, 
With  soul  of  deceit,  yet  with  softest  of  ways, 
And  clad  to  the  eye  in  some  levelling  shade 
Of  russet  and  gray,  he  proceeds  to  invade 
The  sacredest  forest  with  armies  of  schemes 
Of  fine  spun  illusions,  as  subtile  as  dreams, 
For  entangling  some  feeble  and  unwary  wing 
In  meshes  as  fateful  as  mirage. 

Then  bring 

The  metaphor  home,  and  apply  it  to  Paul, 
"  It  is  old  " — so  is  art.     Truth  rejuvenates  all. 


CANTO  VIII. 


T  F  Love  were  a  spark  from  the  Infinite  fires, 
*     Enkindled  by  glintings  of  mortal  desires, 
As  poets  have  written,  what  conflict  of  force 
Dissuaded  the  impulse  from  poise  in  its  course  ? 
What  power  interposed  to  impel  it. astray, 
Or  lined  with  illusions  its  devious  way  ? 
What  sophist,  with  artful  and  cunning  conceit, 
Contrived  the  stout  logic  of  truth  to  defeat, 
Through  gloried  beguilement,  or  sensuous  spell, 
Through  faith  in  false  idols — through  lives  that  rebel  ? 

n. 

Sweet  Sappho  !  poor  heart  !  all  Leucadia  sobbed, 

And  hamlet  and  street  with  the  threnody  throbbed, 

As,  silenced  the  melody,  shattered  the  string, 

The  pain  in  her  breast,  and  the  shaft  in  her  wing, 

She  sang  her  despair  to  a  listening  world, 

And  fashioned  her  bed  where  the  dark  waters  swirled  ; 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENL?. 

But  never  a  Sappho  the  less,  nor  a  moan 
For  memory  of  Sappho,  the  less,  by  a  tone. 

in. 

One  day  in  December,  close  down  by  the  sea 
That  washes  the  sands  in  its  sensuous  glee, 
The  stout-hearted  lupin  and  fuchias  maroon, 
All  purple  and  red,  filled  the  white  afternoon 
With  perfumes  and  colors  of  various  degree, 
This  day  in  December,  close  down  by  the  sea. 
The  ocean  that  rocked  in  the  lap  of  the  wind 
Had  forged  the  huge  key  for  th'  Orient  and  Ind, 
And  while  on  its  watery  hinges  there  whirled, 
The  gate  that  gave  welcome  to  half  of  the  world, 
No  fettering  frosts,  or  snow-stiffening  gale, 
Or  icy-bound  breath,  ever  sat  in  a  sail 
That  shadowed  these  waters,  or  sipped  of  the  breeze, 
Or  fled  at  the  tramp  of  a  storm  on  the  seas  ; 
So  kindly  the  airs  on  this  sun-pampered  shore, 
So  passion-provoking — with  love  so  rapport — 
One  day  in  December — 't  were  well  to  begin 
If  only  to  show  how  much  love  looks  like  sin. 

IV. 

The  winds  had  upbuilded  a  sea-wall  of  spray, 
Lashed  up  from  spent  tempests  one  memorable  day, 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  53 

The  swell  of  the  billows,  the  voicing  of  waves, 

The  shrill,  well-known  cry  from  the  far  ocean  caves, 

That  beat  like  a  bell,  or  a  funeral  tune 

When  swept  by  the  wind — whether  midnight  or  noon — 

Belabored  the  air  with  familiar  refrain, 

And  faithfully  told  of  the  storm  on  the  main 

With  telephone  wit.     The  sands  on  the  beach 

Were  scarcely  more  countless,  so  far  as  could  reach 

The  vision  to  landward,  more  impotent,  too, 

Than  human  endeavors  to  capture  the  view 

That  Nature's  broad  gallery  donated  free, 

This  day  in  December,  close  down  by  the  sea. 


Along  the  broad  pave  just  where  sand-dunes  divide 
The  heights  from  the  lowlands,  caressed  by  the  tide, 
Paul  Fenly,  with  mount  of  Chevalier,  and  grace 
That  well  matched  the  smile  on  his  flexible  face, 
Rode  dreamily  on  through  the  sunshine  and  sheen, 
Which  fell  through  the  boughs, with  the  leaves,  on  the  green 
And  fresh  blooming  banks,  though  the  day  was  December 
— Unless  well  reminded  one  scarce  would  remember. 
Alas  !  it  were  well  if  the  world  could  forget 
That  just  at  this  turning  Paul  Fenly  had  met 
Once  more  the  quick  glance  of  the  steel-purple  eye 
Of  Persia,  the  maid  of  the  song  and  the  cry ; 


54  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Or  that,  in  so  meeting,  he  paused  with  a  gesture 
Albeit  unstudied,  had  startled,  impressed  her, 
And  brought  to  her  face,  quite  reposeful  and  still 
Of  habit,  when  stirred  nor  by  passion  nor  will, 
A  look  half  of  hauteur  and  half  of  alarm, 
And  all  of  forgiveness — one  wholly  du  charme, 
Then  sank  in  the  cushions,  and  wondered,  while  he, 
His  thought  with  the  girl,  and  his  eye  on  the  sea, 
Set  spurs  to  his  steed,  but  confirming  the  while 
The  dimples  defining  the  depth  of  his  smile. 


If  cause  and  effect  should  more  closely  relate, 

Then  Prudence  might  cunningly  circumvent  Fate. 

But  causes  most  rational  lead  to  refraction, 

And  sequences  follow  too  late  for  retraction. 

"  If  ne'er  we  had  met  "  has  been  writ  in  the  doom 

Of  loves  that  were  blighted  since  Eden's  first  bloom 

Dropped  fruits  that  were  withered  ;  so  wrong  follows  right ; 

If  never  a  bud,  there  were  never  a  blight. 


VII. 

A  scent  of  fresh  violets  fell  on  the  air, 
And  vapory  perfumes  of  dank  maidenhair, 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Half-wood  and  half-swamp,  led  the  senses  away, 
To  meadowy  places,  where  cool  waters  play 
Along  the  green  banks. 

Then  the  pausing  of  wheels 

Called  back  the  stray  thoughts  from  the  fanciful  fields, 
To  a  lithe  little  figure,  scarce  more  than  a  child, 
As  fresh  as  the  scents  that  this  moment  beguiled 
The  fancy.     Draped  soft,  as  the  breast  of  a  dove, 
In  shades  of  the  flowers  she  held  in  her  glove, 
She  swept  up  the  marbled  and  ebonied  hall, 
And  smiled  in  the  welcome  of  Mora  and  Paul. 

VIII. 

Ah,  Persia,  why  heed  not  the  oracle's  voice, 
Which  whispers  each  soul  that  is  granted  the  choice 
Of  ways  that  are  doubtful  ?     What  witcheried  spell 
Entices  thy  feet  through  these  portals  ?     As  well 
Seek  aureoled  Hope  in  the  caves  of  Despair, 
As  for  peace  in  this  dwelling.     O  Persia,  Beware  ! 

IX. 

For  Mora,  with  all  the  far-seeing  acumen 
Attaching  by  right  to  the  worldly-wise  woman, 
Quite  conscious  that  ever  since  Lucifer  fell, 
"  The  better  has  still  been  the  foe  of  the  well," 


56  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL   FENLY. 

Yet  challenged  the  proverb  to  meet  such  a  need 
As  seemed  to  confront  her  at  present  ;    indeed, 
She  clearly  foresaw,  if  she  hoped  to  constrain 
The  volatile  movements  of  Paul,  she  must  gain 
Some  element  foreign,  some  sunshine  and  birds  ; 
Some  ideal  pictures  ;  some  songs  without  words. — 
Society  thus  its  thinned  ranks  reinforces, 
And  brings,  to  replenish  depleted  resources, 
The  fledgling  new-loosed  on  the  half-opened  spring, 
The  down  on  its  breast  and  the  dew  on  its  wing  ; 
No  matter — if  pleasure  shall  gain  by  a  note — 
That  voiceless  it  die,  with  the  song  in  its  throat. 

x. 

So  Persia,  not  quite  seventeen,  nor  yet  "  out," 
— That  slang  is  expressive  no  critic  can  doubt — 
Beguiled  by  "  informals,"  or  "  Ah  !  Apropos," 
Or  "  only  a  friend  or  two,"  "  never  de  trop" 
With  sometimes  a  uMusicale,"  "German,"  "Quadrille," 
And  frequent  engagements  to  dine  en  famille, 
Came  lastly  to  look  in  Paul  Fenly's  blue  eye, 
Some  day  in  each  week,  without  questioning  why, 
And  then  to  her  maidenly  conscience  confessed 
That,  scanning  the  list  of  her  friends,  she  loved  best 
The  one  who — she  cared  nor  for  prestige  nor  story — 
Made  earth  Paradise  ;  and  that  woman  was  Mora. 


CANTO  IX. 


T  T  OW  many  a  happ'ning — how  many  a  face 

*  *•     We  glimpse  for  a  moment,  then  lose  every  trace, 

When,  lo  !  it  recurs,  not  more  present  or  real 

Than  that  which  we  saw  just  now  in  ideal  ! 

The  gift  we  call  prescience — the  going  before 

All  science  and  knowledge,  to  open  the  door 

By  faith  to  conviction  ; — the  thoughts  that  impel 

Strange  fathomless  reckonings,  oftentimes  tell 

Their  voiceless  oracular  way  to  the  gate 

Of  events — in  a  word,  they  anticipate  fate. 

n. 

And  thus  it  transpired  in  the  course  of  this  story  ; 
The  reaching  suspicions  which  overtook  Mora, 
Gave  fashion  and  moulding  to  subsequent  schemes, 
Which,  left  to  themselves,  might  have  ended  in  dreams. 
So  lapse  of  events,  with  means  still  more  subtile 
Developed  effects  beneath  Destiny's  shuttle, 

57 


58  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

That  startled  the  maid  into  livid  surprise, 
As,  bearing  her  burden  of  grief  in  her  eyes, 
She  sought  unprotected  the  presence  of  Paul, 
And  low,  and  with  trembling,  rehearsed  to  him  all 
The  mischievous  slander. 

What  answered  the  man  ? 
In  phrases  as  old  as  the  world  he  began 
By  probing  the  wound  of  his  own  discontent ; 
"  The  woman  did  tempt  me  "  ;  what  years  he  had  spent 
In  futile  and  useless  endeavors  to  mend 
A  fracture  to  faith  !     There  were  faults  without  end 
Of  conscience,  and  temper,  and  taste  ;  there  was  scorn 
To  heap  on  her  head  for  the  child  that  was  born 
Of  nuptials  so  wholly  perfidious.     As  soon 
Seek  figs  among  thistles,  or  stars  at  high  noon, 
As  fruits  that  were  wholesome  or  sweet  to  the  taste 
In  ashes,  or  marshes,  or  places  laid  waste, 
By  passion  withdrawn.     All  ambitious  pursuit 
And  purpose  lay  prostrate,  or  latent  or  mute, 
In  view  of  this  horror.     Till  late  he  had  never 
One  thought  entertained  of  a  nature  to  sever 
These  odious  bands  ;  was  it  strictly  in  duty 
To  bury  his  life  from  all  brightness  and  beauty, 
Away  in  a  sepulchre,  snow-girt  and  frozen  ? 
(That  day  Mora  reckoned  his  amours  a  dozen) 
If  so,  he  must  bear  and  be  patient  the  while, 
Though  stricken  of  soul  he  would  suffer  and  smile, 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  59 

As  hot  with  disdain,  yet  defiantly  dumb, 
He  wait  till  the  day  of  his  destiny  come. 


HI. 


Now  Persia  had  listened  with  dilating  eyes  ; 

Forgetful  already,  of  half  her  unwise 

And  witless  behavior — in  making  selection 

Of  one  to  entrust,  whose  peculiar  objection 

To  Mora  seemed  based  on  some  personal  wrong 

Too  stale  for  a  story,  too  tame  for  a  song — 

Her  fancy-fed  feeling  made  ample  excuse 

For  all  his  wild  outburst ;  the  delicate  truce 

To  slander,  implied  by  his  non-recognition 

Of  threatful  aspersion,  and  subtile  suspicion, 

She  fancied  a  merciful  foil  to  the  force 

Of  blows  which  he  hoped  to  distract  from  their  course. 

Thus  warped  in  the  grain  of  her  innocent  trust, 

By  unalert  judgment,  all  subsequence  must, 

In  deed  and  in  purpose,  bear  date  of  the  hour 

When  Persia,  o'ermatched  in  the  mystical  power 

To  rend  or  resist,  as  the  current  may  will, 

Unwittingly  yielded  her  heart  to  a  thrill 

Of  sudden-born  sympathy. 

Strangely  akin 
Are  pity  and  passion,  as  love  is  to  sin. 


60  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

IV. 

As  follows  the  fever  a  languid  content, 

Or  a  calm  when  the  strength  of  the  tempest  is  spent, 

As  rhythm  succeeds  some  unmetred  expression, 

Or  restful  relapse  the  erratic  digression  ; 

As  world-blown,  the  bird  nutters  back  to  the  nest, 

And  stretches  its  limbs  in  unhazardous  rest, 

As  forth  from  the  mesh  of  some  tangling  eclipse 

The  newly  bleached  moon,  half  regenerate,  slips 

To  fields  twice  more  fond  and  familiar  for  aye, 

For  the  nightly  march,  and  the  shadows  gone  by, 

So  Persia,  that  night,  like  a  fawn  to  her  lair, 

So  graceful  of  limb,  and  so  shining  her  hair, 

Escaped  from  the  swaying  contentious  throng, 

And  sought  her  own  chamber. 

Reposeful  among 

The  floss  fashioned  daisies  refreshing  her  bed, 
She  quickly  found  rest  for  the  weary  young  head, 
But  sleep  long  delayed. 

Not  less  white  than  her  peer, 
The  moonlight,  nor  radiant  of  feature,  the  clear 
And  unveiled  eyes  caught  aflame  in  the  light 
And  trebled  their  lustre. 

Abroad  on  the  night, 
The  child  looked  and  languished  ;  some  far-off  regret, 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  6 1 

Half  pain,  half  contentment,  a  feeling  not  yet 
Undid  from  the  swaddlings,  stirred  first  at  the  heart, 
Then  fled  to  the  brain  and  made  parcel  and  part 
Of  thought ;  't  was  the  welcome  and  privileged  guest, 
Named  Sympathy,  asking  for  lodgment  and  rest 
In  the  name  of  Paul  Fenly  ;  what  had  her  young  soul 
To  do  with  the  trickster's  intent  to  control 
Her  heart's  best  emotions  ? 

Ah,  better  this  night, 

Her  beautiful  feet  should  lay  hold  on  the  white 
Evanishing  road  of  eternal  decree, 
Than  walk  in  the  mire  of  the  years  yet  to  be. 

v. 

Albeit  the  girl  from  her  sumptuous  height 

Of  maiden  reserve  and  reluctance,  this  night 

Framed  fanciful  speech  to  a  phantom  array 

Of  auditors  met — in  her  mind — to  gainsay 

Her  prudence  in  lending  an  ear  to  the  plea 

Of  Paul,  and  his  doubtful  defences,  yet  she, 

A  prayer  on  her  lips  and  a  cross  in  her  hand, 

Made  haste  all  her  harrowing  thoughts  to  disband  ; 

And  then  without  caution,  or  counselling  word, 

Or  only  by  angels  of  grace  overheard, 

She  wrote  with  warm  lips,  on  the  starlight  alone, 

The  iciest  vow  to  the  human  heart  known, 


62  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL   FENLY. 

That — never  so  tempted — should  earthly  born  love 
Her  heart  render  captive,  her  reason  disprove, 
As  worlds  were  to  witness  ! — She  saw  not  that  Venus, 
That  moment  slid  down  in  its  orbit  between  us 
And  soberer  lights.     Then  she  finished  her  schemes 
In  ways  quite  peculiar  to  regions  of  dreams. 

VI. 

Meanwhile,  Fenly  smiled  in  his  sunniest  fashion, 

And  nobody  knew  if  in  peace  or  in  passion 

He  caught  from  the  purplest  wing  of  the  night, 

Some  plumes  to  upbear  in  their  venturesome  flight 

Those  messages  earth-born  but  heavenward  tending— 

As  commonest  lives  may  have  luminate  ending. 

Sufficient  that  Mora,  with  cunningest  scorn, 

Of  vanity  bred,  and  of  jealousy  born 

Instinct  with  discernment,  as  one  self-convicted, 

Will  ferret  a  foible  from  ways  interdicted, 

Eschewed,  unsplenetic,  his  sullen-pent  passion, 

And  coolly  proceeded  suspicion  to  fasten 

On  Persia,  by  means  which  a  proverb  has  made 

Quite  lawful ;  in  love  as  in  war  it  is  said, 

All  measures  are  fair  ;  when  therefore  the  lady, 

With  trickeried  fingers  and  ways  that  were  shady, 

Discovered  some  secret  and  sacred  recess, 

On  whose  dark  retiracy  Paul  laid  much  stress, 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  63 

'T  was  plain  that  whatever  the  means  she  employed 

It  signified  nothing  with  that  she  enjoyed 

Of  exquisite  anger,  and  tortuous  bliss, 

In  bringing  to  light  and  disloyalty  this 

Bare,  bald  confirmation — this  grip  to  her  wrath, 

This  proof  of  defiance  of  conjugal  faith. 

'T  were  well  if  Paul  Fenly  in  verses  had  spent 

Like  many  a  lover  his  heart's  discontent  ; 

T  were  better  that  e'en  on  some  Tantalus  lyre 

His  over-matched  nature  should  writhe  and  expire 

In  sensuous  rhymes,  such  as  these  he  essayed 

With  pencil  and  parchment  to  Persia  the  maid. 


VII. 


But  violence  done  to  her  marital  pride, 

Ill-suited  the  measure  :  the  name  of  McBride 

Affixed  to  some  letters  of  much  prior  date, 

And  long  since  forgotten,  't  is  strange  to  relate, 

Attesting  the  truth  of  the  troublesome  story 

Which  long  ago  ceased  to  intrepidate  Mora, 

Believing  in  Rupert  somewhat,  and  still  more 

His  word  that  "  the  thing  "  was  a  "consummate  bore." 

The  name,  to  repeat,  on  the  letters  in  question, 

In  her  own  handwriting,  in  Fenly 's  possession, 

Embarrassed  her  soul  overmuch,  and  her  ire 


64  THE  LOVES   OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Took  soberer  hues,  when  the  single-tongued  fire 

Found  counter  conduits,  and  redoubled  diversion, 

In  ways  too  well  known  to  have  need  of  insertion. 

One  moment  she  scanned  them,  her  breath  coming  fast- 

Those  witnesses  beckoning  the  timorsome  Past — 

But  quickly  besieged  by  some  vigilant  thought, 

Which  oftenest  comes  when  unsent  and  unsought, 

She  clasped  to  her  lips  the  unsanctified  lines, 

Then  twisted  the  leaves,  like  to  one  who  resigns 

Death  itself  unto  death.     But  once  in  a  life 

We  bury  our  dead  out  of  sight.     Husband,  wife, 

Lover,  friend,  for  them  all  we  may  hopelessly  mourn, 

But  one  throb  goes  out  with  no  tidal  return  ; 

The  wave  that  made  empty,  no  waters  can  fill  ; 

No  need  of  a  grave  on  a  far  windy  hill, 

Or  name  writ  in  gold  ;  just  as  often  abroad 

Walks  dark  in  the  midst  of  the  morning,  the  road 

Alongside  our  own  ;  in  religion's  red  light 

Or  the  shade  of  the  cross,  still  the  lips  may  grow  white  ; 

And  never  a  river  so  calm  and  complete, 

But  has  one  shoreless  place,  where  Eternities  meet. 

VIII. 

Thus  Mora  interred  her  dead,  nevermore 
One  echoing  note  from  life's  resolute  score 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  65 

Should  cumber  her  ear  ;  so  with  unpalsied  hand, 
She  cautiously  gave  to  a  perishing  brand, 
The  letters,  then  watched,  while  the  black  wrinkles  fell, 
And  covered  the  memory  of  Rupert  Blondell. 


IX. 


Oh,  hard  are  the  lines  of  the  man  or  the  woman 
Who  writes  of  the  passions  of  things  that  are  human 
The  letters  are  ashes  ;  Blondell  smokes  at  ease, 
And  Mora  may  go  and  return  as  she  please  ; 
The  soft  cheek  of  Persia  is  yet  without  stain, 
And  faint  all  the  traces  of  tears  that  remain  ; 
And  if  Paul  had  died  before  writing  this  song, 
There  were  no  longer  need  this  sad  tale  to  prolong. 


x. 


But  love  and  rebellion,  revenge  and  regret, 
With  all  their  allies,  in  confusion  are  met, 
And  e'en  so  reluctant — some  hand  must  unweave 
The  unloyal  tissue,— therefore  without  leave 
There  may  be  presented  in  passing  along 
A  certified  copy  of  Fenly's  love  song. 


66  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 


XI. 


TO    MY    LOVE. 

My  restless  soul  has  climbed,  how  oft  ! 
The  shifting  stairs  of  ecstasy, 
To  learn  when  pinnacled  aloft, 
How  lone  and  lorn  a  height  could  be. 

Times  out  of  mind,  I  've  strung  my  lyre, 
To  hymn  some  song  in  grander  key, 
Attuning  to  some  soft  desire 
Or  pent-up  need  of  minstrelsy, 

And  felt  the  chords  give,  one  by  one, 
Beneath  the  false,  uncertain  touch  ; 
While  through  the  melody  would  run 
A  thread  of  discord,  overmuch. 

Such  songs  of  egoism  born 
I  ofttimes  sing,  to  hide  despair  ; 
Such  songs,  begot  of  hate  and  scorn, 
More  drear  than  sullen  silence  are. 

But  now  the  tangled  harmony 
I  know  ;  the  shrinking  lute's  delay  ! 
Because  apart,  afar  from  me, 
The  one  key-note  had  slipped  away. 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  6; 

0  Persia  !  rapture  /  not  again 
Shall  soul  so  blinded,  base,  beguiled, 
On  wings  self-builded,  weak  and  vain, 
Essay  to  soar,  while  thou,  a  child, 

Trusting  a  destiny  between, 
Like  threads,  thy  slender  finger-tips, 
Makes  or  unmakes  a  god,  by  e'en 
The  verdict  of  thy  honeyed  lips. 

1  dare  not  measure  out  my  love, 

Nor  guess  the  power  that  sways  my  sense  ; 
I  only  know  if  thou  approve 
All  punishment  is  recompense. 

Come,  pale,  sweet  girl,  and  glide  between 
The  darkening  lines  of  one  lone  fate  ; 
As  primroses  'twixt  summer  sheen 
And  autumn  winds,  weird  and  belate. 


XI. 


For  which,  with  some  subsequent  notes  in  addendum, 
They  fitly  might  call  on  their  saints  to  defend  them — 
The  guilty,  of  course — since  poor  Mora's  surprise 
Was  only  excelled  by  her  frenzy  ;  her  eyes 
Shot  addery  tongues  of  unquenchable  fires, 
As  hot  and  untempered  as  Fenly's  desires  ; 


68  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

And  less  well  contained,  being  somewhat  impromptu, 

Although,  for  that  matter,  his  lines  were  still  damp,  too, 

From  sweated  impulses,  in  characters  rude, 

No  passion  complete,  but  has  ways  that  are  crude. — 

However,  she  sought,  at  the  dead  of  the  night, 

The  couch  he  had  chosen,  since  ever  the  blight 

Fell  over  his  life  ;  and  confronting  him  there, 

With  all  his  heart's  secrets  made  suddenly  bare, 

He  quickly  fell  back  upon  recrimination, 

Essaying  to  cancel  his  infatuation, 

By  charges  of  treachery,  ending  at  length 

With  threats  wholly  shorn  of  significant  strength, 

By  such  coup  d'etat  as  one  scarce  need  relate, 

Having  witnessed  the  pyre  on  the  library  grate. 

But  Paul  wotted  not,  nor  his  aids  and  abettors, 

The  fate  which  befell  the  oracular  letters  ; 

And  Mora,  with  craft  like  the  logic  of  lore, 

Which  leans  for  its  lustre  on  something  before, 

Set  seal  on  her  lips,  and  most  wisely  resolved 

To  wait  while  the  pith  of  the  plot  was  evolved. 

For  witless  albeit  as  lo  and  Zeus, 

And  unpreconcerted,  all  plotting  or  ruse — 

Thus  far  at  the  least — between  Persia  and  Paul, 

Yet  Mora,  suspicious  and  learned  withal, 

As  soon  fill  a  sheet  without  postscript  or  blot, 

As  fancy  a  passion  sans  intrigue  or  plot. 


CANTO  X. 


T_T  OW  swift  were  the  pen  and  how  buoyant  the  verse, 

*  1     How  phantom-like  shadows  of  doubt  should  disperse  ; 

How  lustrous  the  line,  and  illumined  the  page, 

How  eager  the  soul  every  sense  to  engage 

In  rhythm  and  song,  if  but  poesie's  theme 

Were  chosen  of  scenes  from  some  roseate  dream, 

Unveiled,  unentangled,  where  love  answers  thought 

In  sinless  assurance,  unbidden,  unsought, — 

As  odorous  breezes,  awaft  from  some  shore 

Antipodal,  meet  in  ecstatic  rapport, 

And  mingle  in  harmonied  echoes.     Alas  ! 

That  into  this  record  of  foibles,  should  pass 

The  tainted  and  sooted  impingement  of  wrong, 

Less  fair  than  icicles,  less  false  than  the  song. 

Yet  so  falls  the  light  through  the  crimsoning  stain, 

And  multiplied  parts  of  the  frail,  fractured  pane 

Through  which  the  world  sees.     Who  shrinks  from  the 

work 

Of  cleansing,  may  die  in  malarious  murk. 
69 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Wouldst  fetter  a  bird  in  his  course  to  a  star, 

For  shame  that  the  wing  wear  captivity's  scar, 

While  vultures  in  eager  and  carrion  feast 

Make  havoc  of  prey  which  their  greeds  have  increased  ? 

Oh,  countless  the  hearts,  and  the  lives,  have  been  laid 

Prone,  helpless,  and  futile,  for  lack  of  some  blade 

Courageous  and  cunning,  to  sever  the  knot 

Of  Gordian  fibre  ;  to  puncture  the  plot 

Of  cold  malediction.     'T  is  well  these  poor  lines 

Have  root  in  some  truth,  which  redeems  and  refines 

The  lowliest  task — so  with  cheerier  heart, 

Let  us  track  the  dark  thread  to  its  ultimate  part. 


ii. 


Now  first,  howsoever  reluctant,  the  blaze 
Enkindled  of  fagots,  enmassed  from  the  gaze 
Of  meddlesome,  curious  folk,  lights  the  scene 
With  pitiless  glowing  ;  and  never  a  screen 
Devised  or  so  fashioned  can  shelter  the  head 
Of  Persia  ;  who,  wiser,  had  builded  her  bed 
Among  the  wet  violets,  over  the  hill, 
Where  only  the  thrush,  or  the  sad  whippoorwill, 
And  whitening  stars  should  her  threnody  sing — 
Out  under  the  moon  where  the  violets  spring. 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

III. 

Time  swept  down  the  columns  of  life,  speeding  fast, 
And  covered  events  with  the  dust  of  the  past  ; 
But  one  thought  stood  picket  in  sun  or  in  storm, 
One  name  by  soft  lips  kept  unceasingly  warm  ; 
That  name  was  Paul  Fenly,  and  never  a  pearl 
Seemed  purer  to  her  than  that  name  :  foolish  girl, 
Guard  thine  own  from  harm.     Ah  !  How  tardy  to  learn 
That  embers  self-made  are  the  embers  that  burn. 

IV. 

So  Paul  came  and  went,  with  the  apple-bloom  tints, 

Just  paling  to  white  in  his  face,  and  the  glints 

Of  sunlight  and  leaf  in  his  autumn-brown  hair, 

With  nothing  of  anguish  and  never  a  care 

Writ  down  the  soft  lines  of  that  harmonied  face  ; 

While  Persia  forgot  the  despair,  the  disgrace, 

The  scorn  .with  which  cottage  and  salon  were  rife, 

Forgot  the  wild  vengeance  and  woe  of  a  wife — 

A  wife  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  just  the  same, 

And  all  the  world  asks  of  a  wife  is  the  name — 

Yea,  even  forgot  the  dull  pain  at  the  heart, 

The  slanderous  word,  and  the  answering  smart  ; 

Forgot  the  misshapen  and  horrible  cloud 

With  which  her  young  heavens  were  immutably  bowed  ; 


72  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Forgot  e'en  the  hour  for  her  prayer  to  recall, 
For  dreams,  in  the  opiate  presence  of  Paul. 

v. 

Oh,  where  all  that  youthful  and  delicate  charm 

Of  sense  and  of  conscience,  which  catches  alarm 

At  'proach  of  a  footstep  forbidden  of  fate, 

Or  words  too  familiar,  when  whispered  too  late  ? 

Oh,  where  the  repellant,  sweet  sanctity  fled, 

That  crowns  like  a  halo  the  maidenly  head  ? 

Whence  strayed  the  sweet  accents  of  counsel,  and  where 

Those  reachless  refrains  of  a  mother's  last  prayer  ? 

VI. 

One  answer  in  all ;  never  attribute  human, 

Or  law,  or  example  of  man  or  of  woman, 

Or  prelate  or  priest,  can  e'er  cancel  the  law 

Which  keeps  worlds  in  place.     But  if  wresting  some  flaw 

From  Polity  builded  of  human  decree, 

Replacing  for  right,  that  which  wrong  seemed  to  be, 

Then,  social  arbitrament  may  not  imply 

That  marriage,  unsanctioned  by  love,  shall  defy 

All  higher  and  holier  law.     First  of  all, 

Whatever  the  verdict,  such  natures  as  Paul 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  73 

More  sternly  severe  readjustment  demand 

(And  Paul  not  exceptional  too)  at  the  hand 

Of  some  moral  scourger,  than  any  decree, 

However  distorted  such  edict  may  be. 

Yet  man's  every  error  some  truth  underlies  ; 

And  much  benefaction  is  done  in  disguise. 

Economy  wisely  distributes  the  forces 

Which  Nature,  o'erstimulate,  grasps  at  the  sources  ; 

And  those  who  make  trips  to  Utopia,  elect 

To  outlive  their  romance,  and  therefore  expect — 

Since  social  amenities  fitly  combine — 

All  hope  of  absolvement  to  promptly  resign. 

With  logic  like  this,  only  one  comment  more 

Remains  to  be  made  on  this  memorable  score. 

As  soon  should  the  sensitized  agent  resist 

The  light  which  He  only  "  contains  in  his  fist," 

As  one  by  self-cautioning  sense  so  unshielded, 

Or  one  to  perverseness  and  passion  so  yielded, 

As  Persia,  with  all  the  chaste  conscience  of  woman — 

A  knowledge  which  rendered  Paul's  wooing  inhuman 

Beyond  all  known  precedent — Somewhere  in  fine 

In  every  man's  sins  should  be  found  the  white  line. 

So  Persia,  bewildered  with  leafing  delights, 

Thought  nothing  of  days  of  gone  bloom  and  of  blights, 

And  dreamful,  forgetful,  and  dreaming  again, 

Her  moments  of  joy  overlapping  her  pain, 


74  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Stood  tip-toe,  her  new-found  emotions  to  greet. 
What  wonder  the  world  slipped  from  under  her  feet, 
And  left  her  alone   in  the  sun  and  the  wind  ? 
Temptation  before,  dumbly  seeing  behind 
The  wreck  of  the  ties  she  so  carelessly  broke, 
She  yet  wove  new  tissues  for  whispering  folk, 
With  every  new  morning. 

VII. 

There  always  will  come 

Some  hour  when  our  fears  set  adrift,  gather  home. 
Some  time  more  than  others,  when  swart  apprehensions — 
Nurst  well  in  their  first-hood,  but  which,  when  dimensions 
Crowd  happier  feelings,  we  jostle  aside — 
Return,  reinforced  :  in  such  moments,  our  pride, 
For  once  unrebellious,  steals  shrinking  away, 
And  even  our  words  we  would  gladly  unsay. 
Such  hours  came  to  Persia  ;  the  moon  and  the  stars 
Confiding,  impulsive,  looked  in  through  the  bars, 
One  warm  stilly  night,  gilding  newly  the  place, 
And  burnished  a  tear  on  the  pictured  young  face. 
She  thought  of  the  vow  she  had  made  months  agone, 
The  vow  she  had  sealed  with  the  crest  of  the  moon  ; 
She  thought  how  unkept  those  resolves,  and  how  less 
Than  all,  to  her  own  heart,  she  dared  to  confess  ; 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Then  came  the  most  blistering,  withering  pang 

That  fresh  from  the  self-rebuked  heart  ever  sprang  ; 

A  harrowing  doubt,  Ah  !  what  famishing  hope 

Had  caught  the  frail  wrist  leaning  forward  to  grope 

In  shadowy  places,  and  crushed  it  to  pain  ? 

Now  first  came  the  thought,  how  the  rust  and  the  stain, 

From  airs  she  had  fanned,  were  corroding  her  life  ; 

The  ghastly  suggestion  that  Mora,  the  wife, 

Was  outraged  and  wronged  ;  that  perchance,  even  Paul 

O  traitorous  thought ! — had  been  plotting  her  fall, 

And  thus,  a  perfidious  altar  had  builded, 

Of  honor  and  faith,  with  hypocrisy  gilded  ! 

VIII. 

Now  Fenly  was  bad  enough,  all  the  world  knows, 
And  soulless,  but  wicked,  as  wickedness  goes 
In  these  days  of  license,  is  scarcely  the  name — 
For  faults  too  pronounced,  for  his  passions  too  tame  ; 
His  sins  shall  be  nameless  ;  the  best  we  can  do 
To  shun  the  vexation — 't  is  charity  too. 

IX. 

When  woman  gives  rein  to  suspicion,  no  steed 
Of  subtle-bred  fancy  her  own  can  outspeed  ; 


76  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Howe'er  inconsistent,  grotesque,  unrefined, 
All  fancies  find  lodgment  and  place  in  her  mind. 
And  Persia,  like  persons  of  sympathies  fine, 
Made  haste  to  each  pillar  of  faith  undermine  ; 
Till  thoroughly  wretched,  and  faint  with  despair, 
She  rose  from  her  sofa,  unloosened  her  hair, 
And  sank  in  the  cushions,  one  scarce  would  believe, 
More  fit  at  that  moment  new  faith  to  receive 
Than  ever  before  ;  't  is  by  such  occult  courses 
Fate  works  out  her  will  and  her  plan  reinforces. 

x. 

An  hour  in  the  moonlight  and  silence  alone, 

Her  slumber  unbroken  by  even  a  moan  ; 

Then  sudden  a  tap  at  her  drawing-room  door, 

And  a  shower  of  gas-light  fell  on  the  floor  ; 

One  glance  at  her  pallor  set  Fenly  astart, 

And  sent  the  hot  blood  chilling  back  to  the  heart, 

As,  poised  like  a  Sappho  in  "  Lesbian  lights," 

She  looked  in  his  eye,  from  her  self-imposed  heights, 

With  critical,  questioning  glance,  as  dogs  do, 

Or  children. 

XI. 

The  man  caught  a  magical  view, 
Clairvoyant  or  psychic,  and  straightway  began 
The  breadth  of  each  yawning  abysm  to  span; 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  J 

And  even  before  the  fair  listener  had  spoken, 
The  thread  of  her  anguish  was  virtually  broken. 

XI. 

He  said  with  much  spirit,  in  musical  voice, 

That  Mora  at  length  had  made  rational  choice, 

And  most  unaffectedly,  firmly  preferred — 

However  distasteful  the  feelings  that  stirred 

His  heart  for  another — to  order  her  table, 

Her  wine,  and  her  wassail.     In  short,  to  be  able 

Her  usual  and  special  delights  to  pursue 

(With  all  his  resource  in  subservience  too) 

Unchecked,  undeterred  ;  that  her  diamonds  and  dances, 

Her  houses  and  friends  were  her  pleasures. 

His  fancies, 

She  coolly  assured  him  with  greatest  aplomb, 
Could  never  disturb  her,  providing  his  home 
And  seeming  relations  continued  the  same  ; 
And  ended  by  lightly  declaring  the  name, 
Won  somewhat  severely,  she  counted  a  gain, 
And  that,  with  his  leave,  she  proposed  to  retain. 

XII. 

Poor  Persia's  young  soul  was  steeped  full  in  amaze  ! 
'Mid  all  speculation,  this  singular  phase, 


78  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Of  selfish  serenity,  poise,  or  despair — 

For  words  had  no  power  to  reach  her  just  there, 

If  later — fell  cool  and  refreshing  like  rain, 

On  cheeks  parched  with  fever:  it  shut  back  the  pain, 

Displacing  with  feelings  electric  and  rare, 

Her  doubts  and  suspicions,  her  gloom  and  despair  ; 

Then  sudden  the  brain  grasped  the  terrible  thought ! 

What  destiny  this,  which  these  tidings  had  brought  ? 

Some  Scylla  had  risen  as  high  as  the  world, 

Where  erst  only  Charybdis  threatened  and  swirled. 

What  unseen  caprice  moves  the  womanly  mind  ? 

Where  cross  the  dim  lines  of  divergence  ? 

We  find 

To-day  this  girl's  faith  as  sublime  as  the  stars, 
To-morrow  distrust  irredeemable  mars 
The  simplest  device  ;  contrarieties  meet, 
And  love  unbaptized  is  itself  incomplete. 
So  Persia's  emotions  grew  icy  or  warm, 
And  swayed  to  the  tempest,  like  masts  in  a  storm. 

XIII. 

Dear  child!  if  some  pitying  angel,  this  night, 
With  love  such  as  we  under  orthodox  light 
Are  fain  to  believe  does,  with  whitest  of  hands, 
Smooth  gathering  rimples,  and  strengthen  the  sands 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  79 

Under  infantine  feet,  could  pause  in  its  path 
Of  noondays  and  glories,  and  bring,  not  in  wrath 
But  mercy,  Remorse,  to  invite  to  reflection, 
While  reason  gives  conscience  sublimer  direction, 
How  merciful,  mercy.     Atonement,  alas, 
The  sinner's  resort,  falls  far  short  of  the  grace 
And  symmetry  bred  of  a  clean  self-surrender  ; 
And  how  muchsoever  her  years  may  defend  her, 
This  truth  stands  aloof — that  the  woman  who  feels 
Her  steps  yield  before  her  uncertain,  who  reels 
Atilt  on  the  banks  of  some  limitless  void, 
May  rest  quite  assured  that  the  peace  she  enjoyed 
Lies  never  before,  and  the  sooner  retraced 
Her  steps,  the  less  sins  to  be  later  effaced. 
However,  no  measure  of  morals,  or  grief, 
Poured  into  this  book,  can  avail;  to  be  brief, 
Paul  Fenly — a  husband — still  waited  and  wooed. 
She  answered  in  accents  she  half  understood, 
With  morals  perverse,  or  with  logic  awry, 
And  which,  or  if  both,  one  could  scarcely  descry, 
And  then  in  a  breath,  crimsoned  hot  to  the  brows, 
As  Fenly,  ignoring  his  marital  vows, 
Planned  future  reprisals  on  destiny,  showing 
How  easy  annulment  of  marriage,  bestowing 
A  much  larger  share  of  purport  on  a  letter 
To  maintain  a  "  fraud  "  than  if  he  were  better 


80  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Informed  ;  still  bewildered,  the  shock  of  his  words 
Impaled  with  their  sharp-pointed  meaning  like  birds 
Her  thoughts  on  the  wing,  and  so  brought  them  to  bay, 
And  left  no  decoy  to  invite  them  astray, 
By  glittering  imagery,  deftly  outlined 
Against  the  gray  ground  of  a  plan  undefined. 

XIV. 

So,  therefore,  as  hushed  grew  the  din  of  the  town, 

And  moons,  less  aslant,  sent  their  messengers  down 

With  maritime  orders  to  put  out  the  lights, 

Paul  Fenly  went  forth  on  this  night  of  all  nights, 

With  brain  full  of  questionings  ;    not  worldly  wise, 

Nor  firm  nor  heroic  he  saw  with  shut  eyes 

How  fit  were  persistence  ;  he  knew  passing  well 

How  certainly  intimate  airs  may  dispel 

Those  finely-bred  fancies,  so  daintily  wrought, 

Spun  out  from  high  purpose  and  disciplined  thought  ; 

And  carefully  weighing  her  infinite  love, 

Gave  tenderest  trust  to  his  powers  to  prove 

His  judgment  profound  ;  and  once  Persia  committed, 

He  boldly  resolved  to  be  never  outwitted. 

Paul  Fenly,  we  may  as  well  register  here, 

For  once  in  his  life  was  entirely  sincere. 

N.  B.     So  sincere  as  a  lover  may  be 

Who  mortgages  that  there  is  not — non  esse. 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  $1 


Next  morning  Paul  woke  with  a  spring  in  his  soul  ; 
His  pillow  was  swathed  in  a  soft  aureole 
Of  russet  and  gold,  like  the  head  of  the  child 
He  loved  and  denied  to  the  world  ;  so  he  smiled 
In  his  weak,  half-content,  but  quite  summary  way, 
And  promised  his  heart  that  the  close  of  this  day 
Should  weld  his  unlinked  and  unlicensed  hopes 
With  Vulcan-like  grasp. 

Meanwhile,  as  one  gropes 

Through  dreams  unfamiliar,  impelled  by  some  thought 
Or  fantasy  fickle,  his  reveries  wrought 
All  quaint  combinations  ;  he  clearly  foresaw 
That  Mora  proposed  to  hold  fast  to  the  law 
Which  made  them  as  one — what  remained  if  outdone, 
If  after  the  tournament  honors  were  won 
By  Mora  ?     Above  the  pale  spectre  of  fears, 
Well  kept  in  abeyance  through  all  these  long  years, 
So  swiftly  his  fancy  made  disport  and  riot, 
That  even  his  questions  and  semi-inquiet 
Fell  idly  behind  in  the  fanciful  race 
('T  were  hard  for  the  absolute  sense  to  keep  pace 
With  Fenly's  romances)  ;  and  thus  by  default 
The  problem  stood  in  statu  quo. 


82  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

XVI. 

To  exalt 

The  virtues  and  beauties  of  Persia,  of  course 
Was  always  a  vital  and  affluent  source 
Of  pleasure  to  Fenly  ;  he  never  recalled 
The  cost  to  the  victim,  so  cunningly  thralled 
In  meshes  and  webs,  such  as  only,  a  passion 
Enweaved  by  his  own  fateful  fingers  should  fashion. 
And  thus  in  sweet  nothings,  his  mornings  amusing, 
He  fairly  succeeded  in  quite  disabusing 
His  mind  of  immediate  projects  to  mend 
A  rent  in  his  life,  or  still  further  to  end 
The  sad  melodrama  of  sadder  devise, 
In  unities  faulty,  adverse,  and  unwise, 
Wherein  he  was  playing  promiscuous  part 
With  dubious  faith  and  more  dubious  art  ; 
But  accidents  thrive  where  a  purpose  will  starve, 
And  even  the  hand  that  has  failed  to  encarve 
Laborious,  for  fortune  or  future  a  name, 
Turns  back  to  encounter  both  riches  and  fame. 


CANTO  XI. 


THE  morning  hours  lengthened  ;  the  town  was  astir  ; 
The  alternate  spikes  of  acacia  and  fir 
Spun  out  to  a  thread  on  the  warm  garden-wall, 
And  blent  with  the  jessamine  bloom,  before  Paul, 
His  toilet  complete — not  forgetting  the  while 
That  rarest  exotic,  the  everglade  smile, 
Which  lay  in  a  sort  of  profusion  among 
The  statelier  lines  of  his  face,  as  if  sprung 
Like  wind-flowers  in  shade  of  the  verdurous  tree — 
Turned  his  face  to  the  world,  with  a  conscience  as  free 
As  if  there  were  never  a  heart  to  be  broken, 
Or  never  a  "  hail  and  farewell  "  must  be  spoken. 
However,  while  dallying  idly  with  Paul 
That  cleverest  of  women  awaits  in  the  hall 
His  matinal  coming  ;  to  quite  intervene 
The  manly  design  and  the  woman's  between, 
She  settled  one  hand,  thus  to  emphasize  bolder 
Not  too  unpronounced,  on  the  derelict  shoulder, 

83 


84  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

II. 

If  stung  by  an  adder,  or  maddened  by  pain, 
Exquisite  nor  subtler  had  been  his  disdain  ; 
She  saw,  and  grew  livid  with  rage  and  surprise. 
'T  was  only  a  moment,  but  further  disguise 
Was  impotent,  useless  ;  indeed  the  occasion 
Afforded  relief  from  all  further  evasion, 
And  lent  him  the  courage  he  lacked  by  his  will ; 
So  urging  the  moment  with  greed,  more  than  skill, 
He  fell  on  the  letters,  in  parcel  and  part, 
And  squandered  his  fire  with  unsoldierly  art  ; 
Undreaming  how  feebly  his  utterances  fell, 
Continuing  in  words  unambiguous  to  dwell, 
With  manifest  menace  and  unequal  stress, 
On  charges  now  needless  to  further  express, 
He  ended  at  last,  with  sublime  self-assurance, 
Declaring  their  lives  as  beyond  all  endurance 
Together  with  each — that  't  were  folly  to  waste 
Two  lives  in  atonement,  for  one  hour  of  haste. 
How  better  to  grant  each  a  final  release, 
Securing  a  life  of  inviolate  peace — 
That — biding  such  action — the  proofs  in  his  hand, 
If  honorably  cancelled,  were  hers  to  command. 
So  ended. 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  85 

III. 

The  woman  had  sunk  in  a  seat 
Embracing  her  figure,  as  if  to  retreat 
Beyond  reach  of  his  words  ;  with  lips  firmly  set, 
Her  basilisk  eyes  all  unwarm  and  unwet, 
How  hard  and  unlovely  she  looked  !  Yet  the  heart 
Were  stone,  that  unpitying  witnessed  the  dart 
Of  sudden,  unspoken,  ineffable  scorn, 
And  the  smile  grim  and  bitter,  and  wholly  forlorn. 

IV. 

The  pause  which  ensued  was  but  brief.     Mora  spoke  : 
"  I  know  well  your  purpose.     Too  weak  to  provoke 
The  prompt  recognition  your  outrage  invites, 
Since  lawfully  wedded,  my  marital  rights 
I  choose  to  retain — the  reluctant  release 
You  hoped  to  enforce  in  comparative  peace, 
You  find  quite  impractical.     Measures,  therefore, 
Made  needful  to  further  your  latest  amour, 
Press  close,  and  you  fly  to  a  '  bluff,'  the  resort 
Of  cowards  ;  my  will  to  your  manly  resort, 
However,  I  yield,  with  the  single  provision, 
Which  stated,  shall  wait  your  imperial  decision. 
You  purpose  my  honor  to  coolly  malign, 
By  charges  as  false,  both  in  deed  and  design, 


86  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

As  hearts  that  conceive  them.     You  never,  from  pen 
Of  mine,  had  in  proof  one  such  letter,  and  when 
To  attest  it,  you  furnish  one  condemning  line, 
I  promise  all  right  of  your  name  to  resign. 
And  privileges,  such  as  divorcement  ensures — 
Command  you  thenceforth — until  then,  I  am  yours  !  " 


Thus  speaking,  she  pointed  away  to  the  door, 
And  drearily  sank  in  her  chair  as  before. 

VI. 

With  haste  more  indecorous  than  blameful,  mayhap, 

Paul  strode  from  the  room,  while  the  woman  with  wrap 

Tight  drawn  to  her  quivering  throat,  sent  a  leer 

Swift  after,  a  leer  wary,  frugal,  severe, 

As  if  of  her  malice  there  scarce  were  enough 

To  eke  out  the  ends  of  the  half  complete  "  bluff," 

Which  now  relegated  to  her  clever  art, 

Allotting  to  Paul  the  subordinate  part 

Of  victim. 

VII. 

With  blank  disappointment,  and  faint 
And  sick  with  disgust  and  dismay,  the  complaint 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

That  rose  to  his  white  lips  expired  with  a  shock, 
And  never  found  utterance  ;  he  turned  in  its  lock 
The  impotent  key,  and  then  ran  through  his  hair 
His  sensitive  fingers,  now  cold  with  despair, 
And,  but  that  the  nostrils  were  slightly  distended, 
All  sign  of  his  passionate  anguish  had  ended. 


VIII. 

"  You  brought  me  the  letters  ?  "  Her  voice  had  a  purr, 

A  retrousst  inflect,  like  spikes  of  the  burr 

After  frost  time  ;  for  now,  though  this  triumph  was  won, 

The  old  loveless  life  she  had  newly  begun 

Won  fast  on  her  sight.     Fenly  leaned  on  the  slab, 

Nor  mindful  of  victories,  satire,  or  stab, 

All  words  in  this  moment  supreme  were  the  same, 

Save  that  word  were  freedom,  then — worlds  for  a  name. 


IX. 

Spoke  Fenly  :  "  Where  are  they  ? — the  letters,  I  mean," 

His  accents  were  dry,  yet  his  face  quite  serene. 

But  high  in  the  chambers  of  vocal  expression, 

His  voice  seemed  half  strangled  as  if  by  compression, 

As  the  note  of  an  organ,  when  pent  by  the  stops, 

Through  shadowy  places  uneasily  gropes, 


88  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

And  strains  at  the  keys  in  hard  search  of  egress, 
The  over-fed  passion  of  sound  to  express. 
Thus  Fenly  in  high  and  attenuate  tone, 
Half  shrill  and  half  plaintively  spoke. 

Like  the  moan 

Of  wind  out  of  darkness,  behind  her  white  lips, 
More  darkly  portentous  than  cloud  or  eclipse, 
A  threatening  retort  kept  the  tempo  between 
His  words  and  her  own,  e'en  as  chords  intervene 
In  prelude  or  symphony.     Guarded  at  first, 
But  gathering  with  unspent  malignancy,  burst 
The  storm  in  a  wildly  sown  cyclone  of  words, — 
Such  only  as  pride  deadly  wounded  affords — 
Strewn  random  and  recklessly,  only  intent 
On  filling  the  wide  and  impassable  rent 
With  hissing  debris  from  a  mountain  of  scorn, 
To  blister  his  life,  though  it  left  hers  forlorn. 


"  Now  drop  the  disguises  of  fawning  regret 
And  phrases  of  '  would  that  we  never  had  met,' 
And  pass  to  the  gist  of  your  meaning,"  she  said, 
In  stifled  retort  to  some  soft  and  air-bred 
Suggestion,  too  specious,  too  weak  or  refined, 
To  meet  the  full-angled  misjoint  of  her  mind. 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FEJVLY.  89 

XI. 

"  Let  me  go! "  thundered  Fenly,  in  sounds  that  approved 

The  infinite  depth  of  the  passion  which  moved 

A  soul  unsustained,  nor  by  license  nor  law, 

Or  civilized  sanction  ;  which  clearly  foresaw 

Two  courses — one  leading  away  through  the  gloom, 

By  ways  more  unwelcome  than  even  the  doom 

Which  faced  at  the  ending  the  infidel  soul, 

Too  strong  to  be  led  and  too  weak  to  control 

As  destiny  willed  ;  and  the  other  a  stream 

Like  Tigris  the  river,  which  flows  as  a  stream 

Fast  by,  underground,  the  oracular  grove 

Where  God  walks — and  angels,  in  Paradise — Love. 

XII. 

So  slavish,  so  helpless,  so  bitterly  shorn 
Of  power  and  self  purpose,  too  ruthless  uptorn 
From  unyielding  tenets,  for  place  in  that  school 
Where  "  law  is  beneficence  acting  by  rule," 
The  words  lost  no  meaning  as  moments  went  by 
E'er  Mora  had  gathered  her  wits  for  reply. 
Then  turning  with  features  unlaxed  from  the  leer 
She  wore  in  the  first  of  the  interview,  fear 
Nor  craft  now,  nor  pity,  could  throttle  the  hard, 
Inflexible  purpose,  nor  even  retard 


90  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Its  conquering  course.     "  The  time  has  arrived," 

She  presently  said,  "when  all  that  survived 

Of  feeling  has  turned  to  (I  shall  not  say  hate, 

For  that  I  could  have  for  the  dog  at  my  gate) 

A  thirst  most  insatiate  for  vengeance  ;  nor  even 

The  dread  of  the  doomed,  nor  the  hopes  of  a  heaven, 

Shall  come  between  me  and  revenge,  so  beware  ! 

For  over  the  head  of  my  infant  I  swear 

So  hot  to  pursue  you  with  flood  or  with  fire — 

As  well  as  the  thing  of  your  basest  desire — 

That  nothing  is  left  of  your  powers,  your  youth, 

Your  manhood  or  might,  to  attest  to  the  truth, 

That  wooing  and  winning,  and  wearying  soon, 

Comprised  your  amusements  from  moon  until  moon. 

Meanwhile,  to  your  melodramatic  appeal, 

Words  only  my  wholesome  contempt  can  conceal; 

If  brought  full  to  bay  by  such  spurious  schemes 

As  those  you  attempted,  in  which,  as  it  seems, 

You  ignobly  failed,  the  measures  involved 

Would  rest  on  the  possible  verdict  resolved 

By  society,  namely  :  if  dearer  my  fame 

Or  values  accruing  from  owning  your  name, 

A  turn  of  the  wrist  has  enabled  me,  sir, 

To  settle  the  question,  and  now  I  prefer 

To  hold  you  in  bridle,  for  elsewise  you  might 

Place  some  other  woman  in  just  such  a  plight." 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  91 

XIII. 

If  this  were  a  story  of  wrong  and  redress, 
How  simple  and  natural  it  were  to  express 
Such  comments,  as  tend  the  convictions  to  move 
In  minds  half  inclined  to  regret  or  approve, 
Thus  turning  the  balance  one  cause  to  sustain. 
In  fields  before  harvest,  the  full  heads  of  grain 
Take  easy  direction  from  lightest  of  winds, 
While  those  standing  upright  are  empty  ;  so  minds 
Well  filled  and  well  ripened,  of  growth  most  complete, 
Take  easy  direction  from  thought.     Like  the  wheat, 
'T  is  only  the  minds  which  are  empty  or  rotten 
That  errors  retain,  which  are  better  forgotten. 

XIV. 

Society  forges  its  hardships  and  wrongs, 
Ofttimes  with  the  consummate  art  that  belongs 
To  womanly  ways.     On  much  the  same  block 
It  fashions  her  conscience,  her  stays,  and  her  frock. 
It  teaches  the  tricks  which  it  feigns  to  despise, 
Shifts  all  its  own  sins  on  its  victim's  unwise 
And  unsheltered  head,  and  with  cowardly  cringing 
Conceals  its  own  hand,  while  securing  the  hinging 
Of  gates  once  enpassed.     Ignoring  the  woman 
Who  works  for  her  bread,  with  becoming  acumen 


92  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

It  makes  recognition  of  such  as  elect 

To  barter  a  soul,  if  but  with  circumspect 

And  decorous  seeming,  by  adding  a  clause — 

However  perfidious — embraced  in  the  laws. 

Then  spreads  its  broad  mantle  in  lewdish  protection 

On  shoulders  disfigured  with  signs  of  subjection, 

And  sneers  at  its  votaries.     Volatile,  fickle, 

It  thrusts  in  the  blade  of  its  levelling  sickle, 

And  mows  down  all  merit,  with  merciless  hand, 

Save  such  as  for  uses  its  patrons  demand. 

There  never  was  captive,  and  never  a  serf 

On  Ural's  broad  base,  or  Siberia's  turf, 

More  surely  the  slave  of  the  levelling  yoke, 

Than  they  who  society's  favors  invoke 

Above  their  own  strength. 

Thus  Mora  surrendered 
No  jot  of  her  pride  ;   if  society  tendered 
Its  verdict  defending  her  fame — like  the  fetters 
Of  fate,  shame  was  burned  with  the  bundle  of  letters. 


xv. 

The  interview  closed  with  diatribes  more 
Pronounced  and  prolonged  than  hath  profit  to  score  ; 
And,  bowing  more  low  than  occasion  required, 
Paul  turned  to  the  door  and  so  would  have  retired, 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  93 

But  Mora,  with  sudden  transition  of  face, 

Sprang  up,  and  encircled  his  neck  with  embrace 

In  mood  not  unsimilar — so  disconcerting — 

To  some  savage  ecstasy,  wholly  perverting 

To  womanly  poise,  and  self  sanctity  ;  whence 

Inspired  the  pen,  moved  in  pious  defence 

Of  womanly  rights,  hewn  of  fallible  stuff, 

While  woman  her  selfhood  ignores  ?     Not  enough 

His  contracts  to  spurn  in  the  face  of  his  faith, 

Paul  borrows  her  besom  to  sweep  from  his  path 

The  relics  of  mutual  pledges.     In  this 

Most  doubtful  resort,  what  surprise  he  should  miss 

So  unseemly  aims  ;  he  has  failed  in  all  sense 

Of  making  a  plausible,  polished  defence, 

Before  the  all-judging  society's  eyes  ! 

(None  half  so  acceptable  there  as  disguise). 

Not  enough  that  he  sets  up  new  idols  in  places 

Where  lingers  in  ground,  fresh  uptorn,  still  the  traces 

Of  her  unsteady  feet  ;  not  enough  that  these  truths 

Not  even  defended  with  pleadings  of  youth's 

Imperative  folly — but  Mora  can  yet 

So  far  the  self-consecrate  woman  forget, 

As  dumb,  to  reclamber  the  slippery  stair, 

That  hangs  singly  loft,  in  its  sublimate  air — 

A  guest  most  unwelcome,  and  thence  to  be  hurled 

Adown  the  bald  heights  in  the  face  of  the  world. 


94  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

How  narrow  the  isthmus  dividing  the  two, 
Of  love  from  self-love,  of  the  false  from  the  true  ! 
A  look  of  white  scorn,  such  as  Angelo  traces 
In  Sistine  Apollos  with  dumb  scoffing  faces, 
Stood  out  for  a  moment  against  the  dark  wall  ; 
Then  only  an  echoing  clang  down  the  hall, 
And  Mora  alone  with  her  fate  and  her  child, 
Reflected  a  moment,  then  bitterly  smiled. 


CANTO  XII. 


M  EXT  day  every  mortgage,  conveyance,  and  deed, 

And  monies  to  meet  the  insatiate  greed 
Of  modernized  social  exactions,  were  filed 
In  favor  and  names  of  the  wife  and  the  child  ; 
And  Fenly,  so  far  as  the  human  heart  knew, 
Dispensed  all  the  details  in  final  adieu. 

ii. 

Now  moves  the  dull  pen  with  unmanacled  pace  ; 
Now  menacing  fears  cluster  thick,  to  efface 
With  world-cunning  finger,  each  fettering  line, 
And  blot  from  the  page  each  untoward  design  ; 
Now  shrinks  the  weak  flesh  from  the  abatised  road 
So  paved  with  sharp  falsehood,  with  doubt  so  o'ergrowed 
And  tangled,  that  halting,  uncertain,  and  sore 
The  feet  that  enlist  for  the  lengthening  score 
95 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Of  measuring  lives,  illy  judged,  out  of  time, 
Yet  true  to  their  moral  strabismus.     This  rhyme 
Makes  record  of  truth  ;  without  plea  or  excuse, 
It  garners,  unflinching,  some  sheaves,  for  the  use 
Of  those  who  have  witnessed  the  uneven  thrust 
Of  blades  so  empoised  every  garlanded  trust 
To  shear  to  the  base  ;  there  is  naught  to  recall ; 
Each  heart  knows  its  cry — there  's  a  God  over  all. 


And  Persia  took  counsel  of  guardian  nor  friend ; 

She  ordered  her  ways  to  subserve  to  the  end 

Of  doubly  refining  each  delicate  sense 

To  justify  fate  to  her  feeling.     Pretence, 

Or  coarse  readjustment,  or  unreal  life, 

If  shown  in  a  flower,  a  woman,  or  wife — 

With  whimsical  mood  all  too  subtile  for  reason, 

She  daintily  swept  from  her  thought ;  out  of  season 

With  Nature  too  often,  and  oftener  with  art, 

Her  taste  was  the  bitterest  rival  her  heart 

Ever  found  ;  with  such  sentient  and  sybarite  fault, 

No  marvel  her  life  was  one  scene  of  revolt 

Of  mutual  rival  offences  ;  the  hues 

In  somebody's  gown,  or  the  fit  of  the  shoes, 

The  laces  or  perfumes,  made  index  of  mind 

Esthetic,  at  least,  if  not  ethic  ;  refined 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  97 

Discord  fundamental  gave  far  greater  pleasure 

Than  harmonious  sounds  of  tempestuous  measure 

From  unclassic  scores  ;  so  full  of  caprice, 

Exquisite,  perverse,  as  soon  coalesce 

The  fires  and  the  snows,  or  seek  to  make  mate 

Of  nettles  and  lilies — or  placate  her  fate, 

As  counsel  with  Persia. 

The  pearl  may  be  found 

Well  housed,  and  though  captive,  encompassed  around 
With  friendliest  tissues,  yet  lying  apart, 
Self-built,  self-contained,  sending  fires  from  the  heart, 
Not  fateful,  like  diamonds,  but  tenderer  far, 
Such  lights  as  gleam  from  the  cool  reachless  star. 
As  selfish,  as  sinless,  as  wilfully  true 
As  pearls  in  their  shells,  or  as  stars  in  their  blue, 
Sat  Persia  apart  from  the  world  she  defied, 
Like  one  in  the  violet  shroud  of  her  pride. 

IV. 

Months  wasted,  and  Time  with  its  narrowing  lens, 
Brought  focus  and  form  out  of  doubt  and  suspense ; 
As  shifted  the  tide,  or  the  sands  of  the  sea, 
The  verduous  uplands  of  social  degree 
Kept  tally  with  life ;  and  still  slowly  the  girl 
Stepped  measuredly  out  from  the  dance  and  the  whirl, 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

And    down  through   the  mist  of   the  plains  where  were 

glassed 

In  mirage  some  future  too  fragile  to  last, — 
Some  scene  of  enchantment,  some  phantom-lit  tower, 
Upbuilded  in  air  and  dispelled  in  an  hour  : — 
So  groped  the  blind  path  through  the  infinite  wild, 
The  heart  of  the  woman,  the  hand  of  the  child. 


v. 


Sweet  Sisters  of  Mercy  !  what  paeans  of  glory 
Float  down  the  long  columns  that  record  thy  story  ! 
How  hushed  grows  the  sob,  how  repentant  the  soul, 
Entranced  with  the  notes  of  thy  pray'rful  control ! 
No  holier  shrine  than  thy  own  sinless  breast, 
No  emblem  more  pure  ever  spirit  caressed, 
Than  altar  of  thine  ;  without  folly  or  fault, 
Thy  choicest  of  wreaths  for  the  erring  are  wrought, 
And  peace,  in  unstained  and  inviolate  flow, 
Makes  music  in  hearts  long  attuned  to  woe, 
If  bidden  at  thy  sweet  command. 

Who  shall  sin 

If  guarded  by  angels  of  God  ?     From  within, 
Each  woman  has  light  of  her  conscience  ;  the  beacon 
Tho'  whelmed  in  passion,  yet  leads  her  to  seek  one, 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  99 

Soft  eyed  and  serene  'mid  all  worldly  alarms, 
And  sweeter  than  sleep,  the  repose  in  her  arms. 

VI. 

Such  grace  had  been  Persia's  endowment  in  trust, 

Which  later  she  left  to  the  moth  and  the  rust ; 

But  still  like  the  roots  of  the  siempre  viva 

— So  deathless  the  faith  of  the  early  believer — 

It  lodged  in  the  atticky  haunts  of  her  heart, 

All  dry  and  entangled,  yet  ready  to  start 

From  soil  sorrow-fallowed,  and  moistened  with  tears, 

So  waiting  in  weakness  through  all  the  long  years, 

When  bidden  of  anguish  sweet  Mercy  uprose 

From  pious  retreat,  and  from  guardian  repose, 

And  came  at  the  call. 

For  weeks  there  had  poured, 
In  hot  malediction  and  menace,  a  horde 
Of  letters  anonymous,  shameless,  and  bold, 
And  impiously  false  and  malicious.     With  cold 
Disdain,  not  less  bitter  than  helpless,  the  child, 
Now  reaping  first  fruits  from  the  wanton  and  wild 
And  pitiless  whirlwind,  self-sown,  turned  away 
Those  barbaric  shafts  she  was  helpless  to  stay  ; 
Committing,  unbroken  of  seal,  to  the  flame 
All  letters  disguised  in  appearance  or  name. 


IOO  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

VII. 

As  swift  through  her  fingers  one  morning  she  passed 

In  bitter  review  some  more  kindly,  she  cast 

A  lingering,  listless,  and  half-contained  glance 

At  one  superscription  ;  then  swift  as  the  lance 

Descending,  her  hand  with  unquivering  zeal 

Seized  firmly  the  missive,  and  tore  back  the  seal, 

To  read  in  those  characters  dear  to  the  eye, 

Which  naught,  nor  distraction  nor  time,  shall  defy, 

That  gentle,  admonishing  message  of  peace 

And  love,  such  as  only  the  Sister  Therese, — 

With  delicate  eye,  from  the  night-blooming  stalk, 

Along  troublous  ways,  where  the  saints  only  walk 

To  bear  up  the  weak  ones — might  single  ;  a  balm, 

An  odorous  herb,  in  the  All-healer's  name. 

As  reading — "They  tell  us  the  tree  we  have  watched, 

With  measureless  hope,  has  been  blighted,  o'ermatchecl 

By  early,  devasting,  insidious  frost, 

The  bloom  scattered  wide." 

With  bare  arms  uptossed, 

And  fingers  tight  clasped  in  her  soft  shining  hair, 
Her  agony  writ  in  dark  pencillings  there, 
She  sat  for  long  hours  with  poor,  desolate  face, 
— Like  a  white  rose  forgotten  in  winter's  embrace, — 
Enframed  in  her  arms  ;  and  with  far-straining  sight, 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  ioi 

She  peered  through  the  memoried  shadow  and  light, 
Along  the  dim  way,  where  the  Sister  Therese 
Led  on  to  the  foot  of  the  Cross.     But  surcease 
Of  sorrow  comes  seldom  by  ways  we  approach, 
And  few  are  the  chords  which  respond  to  the  touch 
Of  fingers  too  joyless  to  waken  the  theme  ; 
As  well  make  reality  fathom  the  dream, 
And  filch  its  bright  parts,  as  for  peace  to  o'ergo, 
With  passionless  pace,  the  abysses  of  woe. 


VIII. 


Paul  came,  and  the  sunshine  stole  back  to  her  heart  ; 

She  looked  on  the  hours  she  had  passed  when  apart 

As  spectral,  or  ghostly,  unreal  devices 

To  lure  her  from  life  and  its  joy;  so  entices 

The  passion  which  rests  on  a  magnetic  base. 

So  poised,  this  love,  e'en  the  presence,  the  face 

Inspires,  reassures,  and  beguileth  its  victim, 

So  doubly  intense  that  all  powers  of  dictum 

Are  as  naught  against  force. 

Then  Persia  began, 

With  careful  observance,  his  features  to  scan, 
If  thence  she  might  guess  how  his  purposes  moved, 
And  learn,  what  new  mode  of  defence  he  approved. 
With  always  some  cunningest  "  corner  "  on  fate, 


IO2  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Paul  tried  Persia's  varying  hopes  to  elate. 

And  now  with  an  instinct  which  sentinel-like 

Stood  high  in  the  watch-tower  of  reason,  to  strike 

With  wisest  of  aim,  at  this  obvious  disguise, 

Was  Persia's  intent  ;  though  his  face,  nor  his  eyes, 

Wore  ever  more  placid  portent ;  yet,  erelong, 

As  Persia  had  finished  his  favorite  song, 

He  rose  for  adieux,  in  his  sweetest  of  ways 

Proposing  an  absence  of  many  more  days  ; 

And  then,  before  Persia  believed  she  had  heard, 

Strode  down  through  the  lawn,  and  had  quite  disappeared. 

IX. 

Then  followed  those  moments  in  life  set  apart, 
Remembered  when  joy  is  forgotten  ;  which  start 
As  savages  leap  from  the  ambush,  where  faith 
Had  planned  a  secure  and  well-fortified  path. 
Those  moments  struck  off  from  the  meteor  mass, 
Which  fall  at  the  feet  with  dull  sounds,  such  as  class 
With  hours  semi-conscious,  yet  leave  on  the  brain 
The  stamps  of  a  thunder-bolt. 

Persia,  again 

Slipping  down  to  recover  the  letters  that  fell 
As  Fenly  came  in,  felt  a  throb  and  a  swell 
At  her  throat  and  her  heart ;  half  convulsed  she  arose, 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  163 

And  reeling,  she  fell  on  a  couch,  in  repose 
More  tragic  than  death,  so  dumb  and  so  deep 
The  opiate  madness,  which  counterfeits  sleep. 

x. 

Ere  Summer  with  fulness  of  days  is  complete, 

While  fields  with  unripened  rewards  are  replete, 

E'en  yet,  ere  the  briar,  its  bud  and  its  bloom 

Has  yielded  its  sweetest,  maturest  perfume, 

With  a  malcontent's  grasp,  and  a  mendicant's  greed, 

She  leans  forth  to  borrow  the  glow  and  the  bead 

From  Autumn's  exhilarant  cup;  not  content 

With  pleasures  too  present,  half  garnered,  half  spent, 

Yet  wholly  ecstatic,  the  leaf  in  the  sere 

Sheds  tints  unexpressed  in  the  leaf  more  anear. 

XI. 

As  Summer  outreaching,  so  Paul  Fenly's  love  ; 
Unvexed  from  impeding,  untoward  remove, 
It  languished  ;  not  fairly  from  morbid  caprice, 
But  lack  of  some  stimulant,  fit  to  increase 
And  stay  his  voracious  lust  of  himself  ; 
Such  lust  as  vain  men  reckon  dearer  than  pelf, 
And  howe'er  abundant  the  songs  of  his  spring, 
More  affluent  the  melodies  borne  on  the  wing. 


IO4  "THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL   FENLY. 

XII. 

And  Fenly  came  back,  after  many  a  day, 

As  full  of  soft  greetings  as  mornings  in  May 

Of  sunshine  and  birds  ;  and  Persia's  young  heart, 

While  filled  with  those  harmonies,  sadly  apart 

From  common,  concerted  humanity's,  beat 

A  dull  yet  distinct,  undelusive  retreat 

Of  hope  for  the  future. 

If  woman  must  err, 

'T  were  Mercy  that  destiny  timely  defer 
That  vague  and  portentous  presentment  of  ills 
Which  whispers  unvoiced  to  her  soul,  and  which  fills 
With  mingled  remorse  e'en  her  measure  of  joy, 
And  amalgamates  faith  with  the  lead  of  alloy. 


CANTO    XIII. 


\\  EANWHILE,  the  shrewd  Mora  was  working  her  will 
*  *  *     With  venomous  zeal,  and  with  masterly  skill  ; 
On  some  new  device,  each  new  morning  arose, 
On  new  schemes  of  vengeance,  each  night  drew  its  close, 
Till  never  tribunal,  judicial  or  social, 
But  added  its  weight  to  the  cruel  sum  total 
Of  sweet  persecution.     So  follows  the  course 
Of  waters  ;  what  heed  if  defiled  at  the  source  ? 
Each  aqueduct  bears  it  resistless  along, 
Unmindful  it  sullies,  with  ruin  and  wrong, 
White  robes,  dropped  by  fingers  too  weak  for  its  sweep, 
Untaught  in  the  tricks  of  that  ultimate  deep, 
Where  social  aquatics  escape  from  the  froth 
Of  slanders,  beat  up  by  the  shallows.     How  loth 
The  world,  though  itself  doubly  doubting,  to  pause 
And  boldly  give  challenge  to  falsehood  ;  because 
The  apple  Eve  ate  was  unsound,  does  it  follow 
That  all  the  world's  apples  are  found  to  be  hollow  ? 
105 


106  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

But  how  muchsoever  we  court  the  conclusion, 

Or  seek  to  enmantle  poor  Persia's  delusion 

With  down — as  the  eider  bird  lines  the  loved  nest, 

Fresh  plucked  from  her  pitying,  contribute  breast — 

At  one  same  tribunal  all  actions  are  brought, 

And  Mercy's  triumvirate  reckons  for  naught  ; 

For  Truth,  Hope,  and  Charity  only  combine 

The  law  to  condone — not  the  law  to  refine. 

And  Justice  has  framed  one  Procrustean  bed — 

And  fixes  repose  for  the  pillowless  head  ; 

One  touchstone,  high  raised  above  logic  or  school, 

As  old  as  the  world.     'T  is  the  great  Golden  Rule 

Makes  easy  the  hardest  allotments  of  life, 

And  draws  from  vexation  its  sting  and  its  strife  ; 

And  never  deliverance  safer  from  doubt, 

Than  through  those  bright  portals,  encompassed  about 

With  gloried  assurances.     Wherefore,  O  child, 

Forsake  the  white  way  for  the  tangling,  wild, 

And  encumbering  shade  ?     Is  passion  the  soul, 

And  love  its  eternal  and  consummate  goal  ? 


ii. 


Undewy,  and  frowzy,  and  windless,  and  warm, 
The  morn  in  full  western  midwinter  ;  the  charm, 
Half  wrested  from  seas  semi-tropic,  remains 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  IO/ 

To  fetter  and  fascinate  dreamers.     Who  gains 

A  handful  of  life,  gathered  fresh  from  these  shores 

Of  golden  illusions,  unfailing  ignores 

The  vigors  of  soberer  climes.     Thus  entwined 

The  life  of  young  Persia  with  Fenly's  ;  his  mind, 

Exotic  and  sumptuous,  swayed,  as  the  breeze, 

The  grasses  and  greenlands,  and  low  singing  trees, 

And  willowy  banks  of  the  fanciful  stream 

Of  Persia's  sweet  mental  delights.     So  the  dream 

Grew  real,  the  more  the  illusion,  till  woke 

By  the  sharp,  unexpected,  and  palsying  stroke, 

Like  first  guns  in  battle,  and  quick  looking  out, 

Through  varying  mists  of  vexation  and  doubt, 

The  world  seemed  too  strange,  and  too  cold,  and  too  wide 

To  succor  her  life,  or  to  shelter  her  pride, — 

And  so  came  the  end. 

in. 

One  evening — no  matter 
That  over  the  slippery  pane,  the  soft  patter 
Of  plenteous  rain  spread  its  translucent  sheet 
Of  canopied  mist  upon  pavement  and  street — 
Two  hands  waxen  white,  fallen  lax  in  her  lap, 
Two  eyes,  violet  black,  glaring  wildly  agape, 
A  look  of  dumb  fear,  such  as  seizes  the  fawn 
When  tracked  from  the  forest  she  faces  the  dawn 


IO8  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

On  fields  strange  and  leafless,  made  only  such  sign, 

As  bubbles  on  cauldrons  of  pitch.     No  design 

Of  pencil  or  chisel,  in  pigment  or  stone, 

Ere  felt  the  heart  breaking,  or  measured  a  moan 

From  self-made  abysses  ;  how  therefore  portray, 

Through  symbols  so  fashioned,  the  full  sceptred  sway 

Of  passionate  anguish,  so  fierce  that  the  soul 

Lies  pulseless  and  palsied  and  shorn  of  control  ? 

That  dull,  chaffing  check  on  reality  ;  what 

Among  possibilities  laid  to  her  lot, 

In  a  life  so  ill-ordered,  remains  to  lament, 

Or  sear  her  sick  soul  with  more  hot  discontent  ? 

Why  only  that  Paul,  in  some  bold  calculation, 

O'erstated  the  terms  of  his  infatuation  ! 

And  only  to  show  how  unfettered  the  will, 

Impelled  by  desire  some  new  hope  to  fulfil, 

The  letter — escaped  undeterred  to  the  floor, 

Now  answering  the  breeze  from  the  half-open  door — 

May  furnish  a  key  to  the  actions  of  Paul, 

More  accurate,  fitting,  and  final  than  all 

May  else  be  submitted. 

IV. 

— And  thus  ran  the  letter  : 

"  My  own  dearest  one  !     Surely  you  know  me  better, 
And  love  me  too  well,  after  all  these  long  years 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  109 

Of  trial  and  truth,  be  it  sunshine  or  tears, 

To  doubt,  or  distrust,  or  condemn  the  reversal 

Of  acts  more  unwise  every  hour  ;  then  rehearsal, 

Of  all  we  have  suffered  and  sacrificed,  proves 

But  profitless  now  :  our  unfortunate  loves 

Have  borne  their  first  fruits  in  such  hot-house  profusion 

As  spring  from  malicious,  unchecked  persecution, 

And  howe'er  unwilling  my  spirit  to  yield, 

Such  wicked  persistence  has  weakened  my  shield 

Of  self-sovereign  strength.     But  to  pity  your  fate, 

My  dearest,  believe  me,  shall  be  the  one  great 

And  ultimate  impulse  of  manhood's  regrets  ; 

For  who  that  once  loves  ever  wholly  forgets  ? 

Yet  you,  with  your  subtile  perceptions,  may  see 

How  perilous  further  persistence  might  be, 

In  fancies,  which  fade  as  we  hold  them  too  near 

The  sensitized  plate  of  experience. 

I  fear 

My  words  are  inadequate,  poor,  and  ill-chosen, 
To  fitly  convey  my  best  meaning  ;  a  dozen 
Of  methods  more  novel  I  framed  and  rejected  ; 
Believing  my  motives  should  best  be  protected 
By  truthful  exhibit — well  knowing  your  mind, 
And  how  toward  generous  thoughts  you  're  inclined. 
This  leads  me,  my  angel,  to  make  an  allusion 
To  one  phase  of  life  which  must  cause  you  confusion. 


IIO  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Howsoe'er  chaste  your  soul,  or  your  purpose  how  high, 

— And  none  know  the  poise  with  more  surety  than  I — 

The  world  is  a  glass  whose  mercurial  test 

Flings  up  but  one  side,  for  the  worst  and  the  best 

And  purity  passes  for  that  it  may  seem — 

The  proof  of  the  coin  is  its  power  to  redeem. — 

So  Persia,  my  love,  it  afflicts  me  to  know 

Whatever  you  do,  and  wherever  you  go, 

One  shadow  must  follow  your  sinless  young  feet, 

Howe'er  you  advance,  howsoever  retreat. 

Would  heaven  I  could  stay  the  unpitying  hand, 

A  life  should  be  writ  in  one  word  of  command. 

But  pen  shaped  for  power  nor  vengeance  have  I, 

Nor  courage,  nor  patience,  to  bear  or  defy  ; 

Yet,  though  the  whole  world  may  be  filled  with  contempt, 

If  your  loving  sanction  but  prove  me  exempt, 

No  care  or  concern  more  have  I — and  perchance 

This  only  one  love,  this  first,  last,  sweet  romance, 

May  yet  find  fulfilment,  by  waiting  the  tide 

Which  two  loving  hearts  it  now  seeks  to  divide. 

If  fate  wills  it  not,  and  our  foes  shall  survive 

The  wreck  of  their  cruel  misdoing,  oh,  strive 

To  cherish  each  memory  sown  in  your  heart, 

And  swear  from  your  love  for  me  never  to  part  ; 

Only  so  I  go  back  to  that  variable  life, 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL   FENLY.  Ill 

Behind  the  fierce  struggle  to  make  you  my  wife, 

Half  solaced  with  thoughts  that  't  was  I  to  inspire 

A  passion  untiring  through  ice-fields  or  fire, 

Which  flows  like  one  sea,  with  no  backward  intent, 

Which  knows  no  return  till  its  billows  are  spent 

In  mid-ocean  death.     Think  not  life  is  shorn 

Of  all  it  held  dear  to  you  ;  one  blessed  bourne 

Remains,  my  beloved  ;  to  the  martyr-like  soul, 

The  shade  of  the  convent,  the  right  to  enroll 

A  name,  which  though  sullied,  may  stand  alongside 

The  whitest  of  saints  who  have  suffered  and  died 

For  faith.     Let  the  low,  brooding  wings  of  the  Church, 

Which  sheltered  your  first  orphaned  childhood,  still  perch, 

With  vigilant  eye,  unrebuking  and  mild, 

Above  the  flown  bird  it  so  loved  as  a  child. 

Nor  yet  unsustained  by  your  sisterhood  ;  hosts 

Of  time-fretted  frail  ones  reform,  and  the  boasts 

Of  prelate  and  priest  in  their  powers  to  awaken, 

Owe  much  to  those  numbers  whom  vice  has  forsaken  : 

What  more  can  I  add,  my  lost  love  ?  every  grasp 

But  strengthens  the  fetters  we  cannot  unclasp. 

For  me  naught  is  left  but  a  desolate  way, 

Hemmed  in  by  a  law  which  I  loathe,  yet  obey. 

Ah,  would  that  with  you,  love,  to-night  I  could  die ! 

But  fate  is  our  master, — good-night,  and  good-by." 


112  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

v. 

The  signature  here  was  reduced  to  a  scrawl, 
Unprecedent  breach  in  the  practice  of  Paul, 
So  clear,  unconfused,  and  deliberate  his  pen, 
So  prompt  in  self-justification  ;  but  when 
'T  is  sought  to  explain,  't  were  unfair  to  withhold 
One  half  or  the  other,  the  truth  must  be  told. 
Then  briefly,  and  oh!  for  the  shame  of  the  shame 
Of  manhood,  behind  that  hieroglyph  name 
Stood  Persia's  successor — 

'T  were  otherwise  better, 
Mayhap,  to  unknit  and  unravel  the  letter, 
As  varying  moods  of  biographers  move 
Their  minds  to  excuse,  what  no  mind  can  approve. 
But  nothing  to  bring  anti-climaxes  here, 
Howe'er  syncopated  the  time  may  appear, 
It  followed,  as  surely  as  pen  may  repeat, 
Unmindful  of  unity,  harmony  beat, 
That  out  of  the  furnace  of  Fenly's  most  dire 
And  fierce,  but  alas,  unregen'rating  fire, 
Had  risen  new  serpents  his  sense  to  beguile, 
And  catch  ere  it  fell  the  half-trickeried  smile, 
Just  fashioned  and  painted  for  Persia — Such  sense 
Must  serve  as  the  single  and  scorned  defence 
Of  Fenly's  weak  soul.     Never  rock  that  wave  dashed  on, 


THE  LO  VES  OF  PA  UL  FENL  Y. 

More  pulseless  than  Fenly's  unpitying  passion, 
Or  empty  of  heart,  yet  he  knew  the  world  well. 
With  prophecies  such  as  experiences  tell 
Against  the  sharp  sound-board  of  life,  he  divined 
The  favored  conceit,  which,  though  cowering  behind 
The  smooth-shapen  fortress  of  honor — the  trap 
Where  passion  and  prudence  quite  snugly  o'erlap — 
Carved  out  from  men's  conscience,  such  sanguine  device 
As  further  forbidden  the  further  entice 
His  craven  desires  ;  therefore  marriage,  with  men 
Like  Paul,  much  emasculates  motive  ;  and  when 
Society  curtly  confirms  an  amour 
With  nuptials — society  votes  it  a  bore. 

VI. 

But  backward  to  anguish  and  Persia  ;  no  fold 

How  cunning  and  patiently  wrought,  though  in  gold, 

Or  Indian  thread,  like  the  web  of  the  mist, 

Or  sumptuous,  of  substance  unsparing,  or  twist 

Of  fabric,  so  proof  against  misery's  might, 

As  safe  to  encompass  poor  Persia  this  night 

From  passion's  wild  tempest  ;  and  when  at  her  feet 

Her  wraps  fell  unheeded,  one  only  repeat 

Made  answer  to  storm  from  without  and  within, 

Through  lips  white  with  anguish, "  Lord,  keep  me  from  sin." 


114  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL 


VII. 

All  night  the  wind  moaned  in  unmeasured  refrain, 

And  smote  the  wild  boughs  till  they  writhed  in  their  pain. 

All  night  the  stark  truth  in  enshackled  control 

Stalked  down  the  dull  pave  of  her  dim-lighted  soul, 

Till  low-browed,  the  dawn,  with  a  menacing  gleam, 

Put  by  the  thick  shades  ;  then,  as  up  from  a  dream, 

Slow  rose  the  white  figure,  but  staggered  aback, 

As  glassing  her  features,  the  sullen  and  black 

Recorder  of  woe  stood  defiant,  in  lines 

Unblent  with  the  whiteness  that  only  defines 

The  shadows.     One  moment  !  now  seized  with  a  new 

And  horrible  purpose,  her  eyes  slowly  grew 

More  widely  astart  ;  then  as  hunted  from  heights 

Familiar,  they  fell,  like  the  meteor  lights 

From  heaven  to  earth's  desolation,  and  grasping 

The  letter,  she  turned  to  her  purpose,  half  gasping 

An  Ave  —  So  plighted  in  childhood,  how  loth 

The  mind,  to  surrender  the  sign  of  its  troth. 


Hangs  never  a  sabre  unseen  in  the  air, 
To  strike  down  the  arm  which  would  hug  its  despair 
To  impetuous  death  ?     Was  there  never  decoy, 
Or  mirage  of  promise,  to  trick  out  some  joy 


THE  LO  VES  OF  PA  UL  FENL  Y.  1 1 5 

For  span  o'er  the  suicide's  moment — or  whelm 

The  hand  of  the  fury  misguiding  the  helm  ? 

Oh  !  stay  the  frail  fingers,  and  palsy  the  brain — 

Too  late  !  as  the  lips  of  the  drunkard  would  drain 

The  last,  most  reluctant,  and  surfeiting  drop, 

The  fate-impelled  Persia  steeps  dumb  her  last  hope 

In  dismal,  defiant  excess,  with  such  zest 

As  only  is  lent  from  that  cup  labelled  "  Rest." 


IX. 


The  end  draws  anear  ;  the  last  lurid  glow 
Of  suns  well-nigh  set  not  infrequently  show 
Strange  visions  uplifted  and  hung  for  a  season 
In  infinite  air,  with  nor  purpose  nor  reason, 
Save  only  that  life  is  behind.     So  await, 
The  vessels  of  bromide  or  mercury,  the  plate 
Whereon  is  transfixed  every  life  as  it  passes, 
With  equal  and  scrupulous  sureness — the  glasses 
Or  lens  may  be  faulty,  the  chemicals  foul, 
But  perfect  the  law  which  develops  the  soul. 


x. 


Sweet  Sister  Therdse  "  ; — thus  wrote  the  mad  girl, 
I  question  you  hear  me,  from  out  the  dread  swirl 


Il6  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

Where  love  lies  engulfed.     Let  me  see  your  white  hand 

Of  pitying  love  ;  let  me  hear  your  command, 

To  tighten  my  fingers  in  yours,  lest  I  fall 

In  quagmiry  places.     How  sharp  I  recall 

Your  sweet  warning  voice — but  fate  builded  a  way, 

Over  wimpling  quicksands,  inviting  astray, 

Eyes  bred  to  the  altar — and  whence  I  had  learned 

Of  "  Him  who  all  things  overcometh,"  I  turned 

Obedient  to  love.     I  know  how  forbidden 

The  theme — I  recall  how  ofttime  you  have  chidden 

My  first  faintest  questionings  ;  now  let  the  wild 

Tempestuous  breaker  which  swallows  your  child, 

Perish  full-voiced  and  spent  at  your  feet.     Only  now 

I  write  my  first,  last,  indissoluble  vow 

Of  faith  to  my  own  heart.     If  wicked  or  weak 

At  first,  thrice  accurst  and  impotent  to  seek 

Repentance  on  narrowing  altar  or  shrine  ; 

And  if  disaffected  my  heart,  be  it  mine, 

Its  follies  and  aims  and  intents  to  atone, 

In  ways  such  as  God  and  my  conscience  make  known. 

Some  things  must  remain  always  dark  to  my  soul, 

Some  unbidden  doubts  my  dull  reason  control. 

If  love  is  adverse,  wherefore  Nature's  decree  ? 

If  nature  is  law,  why  shall  laws  disagree  ? 

If  vital  to-day,  and  to-morrow  is  fled, 

What  reckoning  line  'twixt  the  living  and  dead  ? 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  1 17 

If  love  hide  its  face  under  mask  of  the  law, 

What  wonder  men  seek  for  a  fracture  or  flaw 

To  unshackle  souls  ? — If  faith  is  supreme, 

What  use  of  a  plan  to  undo  or  redeem  ? 

These  harrowing  thoughts  too  unsimple,  confuse, 

And  give  to  conjecture  those  transporting  views 

Of  love's  immortality.     Better  my  wings 

Had  beaten  the  bars  of  impossible  things 

To  death,  and  despair,  than  this  finding  out, 

Had  cruelly  borne  me,  high  poised  above  doubt, 

Across  the  broad  seas,  to  this  desolate  shore, 

Where  my  unburied  dead  quit  my  sight  nevermore. 

How  great  was  my  love,  how  unbounded  my  faith  ! 

The  winds  in  my  face,  or  the  thorns  in  my  path, 

Nor  terror  nor  torture  too  sore,  while  in  sight 

I  saw  the  strong  torch  of  one  passion  alight. 

It  matters  but  little,  the  brand  on  my  brow, 

What  verdict  humanity  renders  me  now  ; 

Yet,  holy  of  women  !  give  ear,  I  implore, 

My  soul  is  as  white  as  that  morning  of  yore, 

When  smiling  you  kissed  my  poor  orphaned  brow 

— How  friendly  that  morning  comes  back  to  me  now — 

And  fixed  my  young  lips  their  first  prayer  to  receive, 

And  taught  them  to  murmur,  *  My  Father,  forgive.' 

The  tempest  is  hushed  ;  scarce  a  breath  is  abroad  ; 

How  near  seems  oblivion  and  respite  :  O  God  ! 


Il8  THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY. 

That  women  lag  on,  with  their  hearts  in  the  dust, 

Uptorn  by  some  juggernaut  wheel,  from  their  trust 

In  manhood  and  truth  ;  while  the  heavens  are  bowed 

And  pregnant  with  promise  of  rest.     Let  my  shroud, 

Enweaved  as  a  bright  revelation  of  truth, 

Unvex  the  tired  feet  which  unwisdom  and  youth 

Have  led  in  the  by-ways  of  life.     One  thing  more. 

If,  lifting  "  false  keys  "  to  the  unopen  door 

Of  scenes  well  concealed — if  on  oceans  of  doubt, 

Where  earth's  swinging  lamps  shall  have  all  gone  out, 

I  venture  my  much  crippled  oars  to  dip, 

Unsent  and  unsighted  from  shore  or  from  ship, 

What,  tell  me,  sweet  Sister,  counts  one  more  poor  life, 

One  breath  more  or  less  in  the  sickening  strife  ? 

Whatever  of  time,  of  account,  or  of  cost 

Perversely  I  wagered  and  fatally  lost, 

The  impotent  title  remaining  in  trust 

Is  scarce  any  more  than  a  handful  of  dust, 

To  be  sifted  away  on  a  shoreless  sea, 

Or  washed  to  the  beach  of  Eternity. 

What  angels  have  paved  me  a  pathway  of  prayer  ? 

Already  I  seem  to  be  swinging  in  air  ; 

The  veil  slowly  rends,  and  new  vision  inspires 

My  unquickened  powers  with  celestial  fires  ! 

Off,  fetters  of  flesh  !  ye  are  loads  to  my  feet ! 

How  lovingly  earth  and  the  firmament  meet ! 


THE  LOVES  OF  PAUL  FENLY.  119 

Oh,  joy  !  all  my  worldly  desires,  one  by  one, 
Like  leaves  winter-rotted,  all  outward  are  blown  ! 
And  now  I  can  see,  e'en  on  wings  of  such  fleetness, 
Uncovered  the  law,  that  all  love  is  completeness  ! 
O  Angels — O  rapture  !  O  faith  !  one  in  three, 
Bear  me  up,  lest  I  fall — I  am  free,  I  am  free  ! " 


XI. 

They  lifted  the  form  from  the  white  marble  stair, 
And  threaded  the  lengths  of  the  sunniest  hair  ; 
The  shapeliest  fingers  they  curved  to  their  will, 
And  fashioned  the  eyelids,  now  stony  and  still  ; 
The  violets,  wet  from  the  fountain's  white  crest, 
They  tied  in  a  knot  for  her  maidenly  breast, 
And  the  flowing  folds  of  her  creamy  gown 
They  rumpled  to  rippling  waves  of  down. 
And  over  the  heart  that  had  ceased  to  beat, 
They  laid  the  pale  Cross  with  its  Promise  sweet. 


THE    END. 


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